Painting an Oyster
by Tiny Q
Summary: Ginny's a dog person and Draco's a, well, Draco's a Draco person. So what happens when the two stumble across each other years after they graduate? Sparks, that's what. However, neither of them realises what is happening until it is far too late...
1. When I'm Up I Can't Get Down

Title: Painting an Oyster

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one legged lesbian seagull hotmail com (Please add 3 underscores, one "at" sign, and a period)

**Please Read:** I have completely rewritten the first five chapters of this story. Why did I do this? Because frankly, they sucked. And they weren't making me happy, so I changed them. I am still not one hundred percent happy with them but if I didn't post them now I never will, and I have other stories I want to finish. But yes, because of this I am going to ask you to **please reread these chapters, as they are completely different from what they were originally**. As well, I would like to apologise for leaving all the old reviews up before I began to repost the chapters. I didn't think it would be fair to those of you who had favourited it, and honestly, I am too lazy to go through each review and try and delete them. I personally hate it when people do this, but I think I understand why they do this now. Well yes, I am going to stop rambling and let you read.

A/N: I am still not very happy with this chapter for I think there is too much information at one time, but I am not going to touch it anymore, lest I go insane. Well, not that I am not insane already... Uh yes, how about you just skip this part and continue on down to the story...

Disclaimer: I own nothing, with the exception of Sneazel and Ginny's new flat. So there.

**Painting an Oyster**

**  
Chapter 1**

**When I'm Up (I Can't Get Down)**

o-o-o

Soundtrack: "When I'm Up (I Can't Get Down)" by Great Big Sea

o-o-o

"Ginny, dear, are you sure you that this neighbourhood is a safe place to live? I could have sworn I saw some sketchy looking characters while we were moving your stuff in here."

That's my mother, Molly Weasley, for you. She is always looking for things to protect me from. Always. Actually, ever since I can remember she has been like this, most likely because I am her little baby girl. The fact that I manage to get myself in the most trouble, save for Ron, doesn't help much either.

It has never ceased to irritate me though, more so now than ever before. Well, I am twenty seven years old now. I can very well take care of myself. Though the fact that I keep turning up in the papers only seems to fuel my mother on. I keep telling her it is simply one of the bonuses of having the Minister for Magic as a father, but she doesn't care. She simply sees it as another reason to protect me, as she is trying to now.

"Don't worry Mrs. Weasley-"

"Molly," my mother corrected.

"Molly. I have lived in this area for the last few years and I have never had any problems, save for a poor transit system," he said, his perfect smile shinning down on my mother. She looked up at him, trying to detect a lie, as she often does with my brothers. "And if anything does happen, which I highly doubt, I live just down the hall so she will always have someone there for her."

Great, just when I am think that I have escaped the shelter of my brothers, _he_ decides to step in and take their place. Will anyone ever realize that I am perfectly capable of living on my own? It certainly doesn't seem that way.

Now you might be wondering who this "he" is. Well, he is Zacharias Smith, my bestest friend. Back in Hogwarts I had absolutely despised him and his superiority complex, and my views hadn't changed until I encountered him a few years ago in a gay bar. Don't ask me what I was doing in said bar, for I don't really understand it myself. I saw him working behind the bar though, and after a few drinks on my part as well as a few questions, I discovered that he owned the place. The rest of the story is irrelevant. All you really need to know is that he is my very bestest friend, well besides Sneazel of course, and will now be my neighbour as well.

"See mum? No need to worry," I chummed in, trying to persuade my short, plump mother that all will be well. "And remember, that is why you and dad had that charm warden come in and set up all those security wards. I will be perfectly safe. You know I will be." I stared at my mother's unconvinced face and bit back a sigh. "And besides, Sneazel will be moving in with me as well. No one would dare try anything with him around."

Sneazel is my puppy, if you are wondering. My very large and protective puppy. No one can come near me when he sets his mind about keeping them away. My mother doesn't like Sneazel all that much. Sneazel has a tendency to tear apart her garden when we come over for a visit. He loves to go after the lawn gnomes you see.

"I know you have that thing moving in with you," my mother scowled. See? "But I wish you would have that boyfriend of yours moving in with you instead."

I froze at that. Now where did that come from? No, I know where that came from. My mother has this notion that if she can not protect me herself, then I need a man to protect me. Apparently she thinks that I have been protected by my brothers for so long that I require a male presence in my life to be happy, safe and wonderful. Actually, if experience proves correct, men seem to cause the opposite of all that when they are around me.

And really, I have been living on my own since I left Hogwarts, and I have not needed a man to take care of me for that entire span of nine years. I have a feeling that this is all coming up because my mother is beginning to think that I will never get married, that I won't produce her anymore grandchildren. I suppose at the rate I am going her fears do have some merit.

"Mother, you know I do not have a boyfriend anymore," I said slowly. She is trying to get me to yell, I know she is. I think it is one of the things she loves to do most with her children, other than coddle them, and that is yell at them. It's rather peculiar now that I think about it. "He hasn't been my boyfriend for a very long time now, you know that."

"But he was such a nice young man," she replied, her eyes going slightly misty. I glanced at Zach to see him rolling his eyes. He knows all to well that Samuel was anything but a "nice" young man. "So sweet and thoughtful..."

"Please," I scoffed, cutting off what ever she had running through her head, thoughts of my wonderfully happy life with that prat. "He was controlling and condescending."

Samuel is a perfect example of what I was talking about before. He was the perfect gentleman at first, really he was. He made me feel all those wonderful happy feelings and put a smile on my face. But then things changed, and my ideas, that he had once encouraged, slowly became wrong and stupid. Eventually I couldn't take it anymore and got rid of him. But it is not simply him that I am complaining about; it's the several men who have ended up treating me in the same way. I don't know if it is something I am doing wrong personally or if I just attract the wrong type of blokes. Either way it has driven me to avoid dating. At least until I find a guy who doesn't fit their mould.

"I am sure that was just your imagination, Ginny," my mother responded reasonably, looking for all intents and purposes as though she was talking about the weather.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" I asked, trying to keep my voice civil, though I could feel my blood beginning to boil. I know that if I raise my voice it will only cause her to raise her voice in turn. The whole her enjoying it bit, you see. Eventually we will be shouting at each other on the tops of our lungs and will continue to do so until one of us storms off or another person intervenes. It is like this horrible snowball effect, and I am taking this analogy from a good friend of mine, where the stupid ball of snow keeps getting bigger and bigger until it crashes into something innocent. And the innocent something is usually someone's feelings.

"You just don't want to commit to anyone," she said simply.

I heard Zach snort and I shot him a dark look, grinding my teeth together in an attempt to not burst into a fit of yelling. "Mother," I said as evenly as I could. "I do not wish to discuss this right now."

"Fine," my mother replied, shaking her head and gathering up her things. "But it will be discussed sooner or later."

"Of course it will be," I replied, shooting another dark look at Zach who had a look on his face as though Christmas had arrived early, bringing with it a huge pile of everything he has ever wanted.

With a nod my mother took out her wand and Apparated away with a resounding crack. I stared at the spot where she had been standing. Sometimes I really wish that she wasn't my mother.

"So," Zach said slowly, plopping down on my couch, which was sitting in the middle of my living room, facing the fireplace. I glared at him then turned my glare towards the twenty or so big boxes that were scattered about the room. They have become this horrid trend about my new flat, scattering themselves across the kitchen, the bedroom, the hall and even the loo. My only condolence is that I didn't have to move them all by myself. No, that is what my six older brothers are for. Very handy for moving purposes really. One of their only good attributes.

Today was moving day, as I hope you have figured out. That is why my mother was over, she was dictating to everyone where the boxes should go, in order to maximize on space you see. My brothers are useless when it comes to thinking ahead, and if they had it their way they would pile all the boxes in front of the door and out in the hall when there is no more room in front of the door. My mother likes to correct this fault. For some reason she stayed longer than anyone else though. Much to my enjoyment, I can assure you.

"You have problems committing yourself, eh?"

"Shut up," I hissed, glaring at him as he smirked up at me. "It's not like you are any better, Mr. I Heart One Night Stands."

"Touché," he replied, his smirk splitting into a grin. "Perhaps that is why we get along so well." I cocked an eyebrow at this. I am certainly not known for the whole one night stand routine. "Neither of us wants to be truly attached to anyone so we use each other to keep others at bay."

"I suppose you're right about that," I agreed with a sigh, moving forward and dropping onto the couch next to him. I don't know how many times I have used him as a fake boyfriend. It seems to me that the number of times has recently begun to increase. Not the healthiest thing to be doing, now that I think about it...

"Of course I am right," he said haughtily, shifting in his seat slightly, presumably to accommodate for his overlarge ego. "I am always right."

"Of course you are," I said in a sweet and sugary voice. "And that is why you live the life that you do."

"Someone is cranky," he said in response, his voice not mirroring the mild expression on his face.

"Wouldn't you be cranky too if your mother has suddenly declared, in front of your bestest friend, that you have commitment problems?" I demanded, crossing my arms and glaring across the room at my fireplace. I know I shouldn't get so worked up about her, I mean, she acts like that all the time, as I said. But I just can't help but get worked up when there is an attack on my person. I like my life. Why should I have to change it because someone else doesn't approve of it?

"No," he said flippantly. "Because it's the truth."

"Well, you know what they say," I sighed, letting out a huge breath of air and closing my eyes. "Admitting that you have a problem is the first step towards solving it."

We slipped into silence, and I kept my eyes closed. You know, sometimes I think that is the most wonderful thing that you can have in a friendship: the ability to sit silently together and not feel obligated to always talk. Zach and I seem to have this concept mastered.

"I hope you are planning on taking time off to deal with all these boxes," he suddenly said, interrupting the silence that we had held. I opened my eyes and looked at him. I wonder where that idea came from. "Because if you haven't they are going to be sitting here until next Easter. And the last thing I need is for you to be hanging around in my flat all the time because you hate boxes." Ah, that's why.

"I booked the rest of the week off to deal with them," I replied darkly. This time off was coming out of my vacation time. I have been planning on going to Italy some time next year and because of this time off the trip is going to be shorter than I had hoped it would be. Oh well, I suppose I shouldn't complain when I get paid to move into my new flat. A new flat where I will no longer have to listen to Candice whine about my paint thinner being too smelly, my canvases being too large and inconvenient to store, or that the eyes in my paintings scare her. I still have to giggle at that one.

Candice was my old roommate of two years. She was a "wonderful" person to live with as I hope you can tell. Actually, I don't know how I managed to live with her for as long as I did. But I don't have to worry about her any more. She went on a trip with a couple of her friends to Canada a few months back and apparently she fell in love with some Canadian bloke. They got married last month actually, over here in England for some reason. Well, regardless of her newfound marital bliss, I had to find a new flat because I couldn't afford our old one on my own. Thus why today was moving day.

"I just have to go in on Friday for a meeting. They want to go over the expansion plans. Again."

I don't need to groan my displeasure about that aspect of my life anymore; Zach knows exactly how much I despise those meetings. All we ever do is argue over how high the light switches should be set, or which colour marble we should use, or where the exhibits should go. It's taken us a good six months to get to where we are, and we are finally ready to begin construction. This should be the very last meeting before it all begins, an all systems go sort of check over. Lady Malfoy is sending one of her people in, which is even more thrilling because they are usually such tight asses.

And yes, I did just say Lady Malfoy. I work in an art gallery. Actually I've been there for a good five years now. I got a part time job there when I was going through art school and never really left, and now I have the job of discovering new artists with new art to host. Funny how that works, eh? We began to have some severe money issues about two years ago, not that they hadn't been present before, but the economy had been in a recession so things had become a bit worse. That was when Lady Malfoy stepped in. She came forward with the money and the enthusiasm to bring the gallery away from the brink of bankruptcy, after having bought the establishment of course.

I had been completely against the idea of a Malfoy owning our lovely gallery; I would have rather let it go bankrupt than let one of them get their filthy hands on it. Thankfully no one listened to me, as few do, and now the gallery is more popular than ever before. We are bringing in artists now that we only used to dream about hosting. I hate to say it, but the Malfoy actually did some good. No, she did a lot of good. And the expansion is sort of a permanent mark of this goodness.

"So you will be spending the next two days battling with boxes?" Zach asked my sceptically. I felt my hair shift as he took a chunk of it into his fingers and brought it towards himself. I don't know what his fascination is with my hair, but for some reason he always insist on touching it. He says it is because it is soft, but I am beginning to have my doubts. "Why does that sound sketchy to me?" He paused for a moment in what I knew was mock thought. "Maybe it's because I know that as soon as you find your paints all boxes will be dutifully ignored."

I cracked an eye open and looked at him with a slight pout. "That's why they're at your flat, remember?" I asked, crossing my arms. It was the only way for me to get anything done really. If I don't really want to do something, I won't. I will find all sorts of odd reasons to stop doing it or I will begin to finish projects I haven't touched in years. That is why I thought it would be safer to keep the worst of the distractions at his place. That way I might actually be able to unpack things I will actually need. Like underwear.

"How can I forget after the stink you made about giving them to me," he hissed, tugging at the hair that was in his hands. I scowled at him.

"But they're precious to me, Zachypoo," I said. "You know that."

"How can I forget?" he grumbled, turning his eyes away and staring at my collection of boxes. He has a very strong profile. It's one of the things that I have always found most attractive about him. And one of the things that always makes me want to paint him. He gets irritated when I try to get him to sit down long enough for me to do it though.

So, have you figured out what I do yet, other than work in an art gallery that is? Hopefully you have deduced that it involves painting and paint. If you haven't I think I am going to become worried. I am a freelance painter and illustrator for Muggles and Waizards alike. It doesn't bring in much money, since there isn't much of a demand at the moment, so that is why I still work at the gallery.

You might be wondering now how I came into possession of this career. To be honest, I am not quite sure. I always used to doodle on my notes in school, and one day I just decided that I wanted to make doodling what I do for the rest of my life. So, as soon as I was done at Hogwarts I enrolled in an art school, just outside of London, and began a three year program. I don't think I have ever had so much fun in my life.

Somewhere along the line I began to do commissions and eventually turned it into a career, painting images for children's books, painting portraits, and anything else that would present itself. I wish that I could only do that for the rest of my life, but it doesn't pay the bills, nor does it allow for a very social lifestyle. Well, it should, except I like to hermatize myself when I paint, thus eliminating my social life.

"And just so you know, I refuse to help you with anything to do with your belongings," Zach declared, still playing with my hair. I'm not surprised by this declaration. Last time I roped him into helping me he almost got killed by falling boxes with sharp pointy objects in them. I am not expanding on that story, sorry. Needless to say though, he has vowed never to help me move again.

"I know," I replied, sighing slightly. "That's why my brothers were here."

"Oh, so you are blaming the beasts' presence on me now, are you?" he sneered, tugging on my hair again. I opened my eyes and glared at him, hoping to convey the idea that I think he should grow up.

Zach doesn't like my brothers. None of them. It gets to be rather annoying at times, but he's rather good at acting as though he doesn't hate them enough to hex them all. Most of the time. I am not quite sure why he hates them all so much, but I am sure he has his reasons. Though I think that if I ever figure out why Zacharias does all of what he does, figure out the reason behind the madness, I will go crazy. Well, crazier than I am now at least.

"No," I said slowly. "They volunteered." Well, that isn't exactly true as I did have to more or less threaten them into volunteering. Not that Zach needs to know that though. "And how could I refuse free labour?"

"Easy," he replied, the cushion under my head shifting as he moved his head. "You say no."

"Har har," I said dryly. "And move all these blasted boxes on my own? No thank you."

I hate boxes. I am not quite sure why I do, but all I know is that I do. It is probably because I usually end up getting more paper cuts and blood blisters than anything else when dealing with them. I would much prefer plastic bins, but I am simply too poor, or cheap rather, to go and buy a shwack load of plastic Rubbermaids. Don't mind me; I just like to complain about things. A lot.

"But at least you will finally have a flat of your own," he said, shifting slightly once more to look at me. There was a slight smile on his face. It always catches me off guard when he turns like this, not in physical movement, but when he becomes all sweet and concerned like. I am so used to the snarky side of Zach that I forget that he has a compassionate side. Oh, I know that it is in him, I am just not used to seeing it. I think I would be worried if I saw it all the time. "Just think of how much room you will have to expand into."

"Yah," I said with a nod and a sigh. That is one of the worst things about me: my ability to expand into an area. I'm horrible. At first it seems like I have far too much room, but give me a month and I will no longer have enough. I don't even know where all the new stuff comes from.

That is one of the main reasons why I got this flat, well, other than to escape Candice, or that I couldn't afford to stay in my old flat. Let's just say then, that it is one of the nice bonuses of this flat then. The large amount of room I will have all to myself to do what ever I want with. It has this enormous sitting room which is more than big enough to house my couch, my stereo, my work table and my easels – all comfortably.

I am actually quite surprised that it was going for as cheap as it was. The other rooms in here are a bit on the small side, but still, it was a steal. Now that I think about it though, it might be because the large window that faces north has an absolutely lovely view of the waste treatment plant across the bay. It doesn't bother me, but I am sure others would be bothered by it. I think that the toxic fumes can be rather inspiring at times, how the clouds of filth gather in the air and seem to take on a life of their own. No, I am not crazy. I'm just an artist. We are supposed to find beauty in odd places.

"And everything will be just wonderful once I pick up Sneazel from the vet," I said with another sigh, beginning to grin once more as I watched Zach's face sour. Sneazel had a run in with a Runespore a few days ago and has been at the vet ever since. My poor baby.

"I still don't get why they are letting you keep that beast in here," Zach hissed and I rolled my eyes, still grinning slightly at his face.

"He's not a beast," I amended. Zach has never liked my puppy. Ever. I think it has something to do with them both being male or something like that. But then, I am by no means an expert on the interactions between males of different species, so I shouldn't comment. All I really know is that the two don't care much for each other. Sneazel always sulks around in my bedroom until he leaves, or seeks revenge on him by drooling in his shoes. Or both. Funny yet not.

"Yes he is," he grumbled, coiling my hair around his fingers as though that would make everything alright again. I shook my head. I will once again state that I never want to understand what goes on in his head, lest I go insane. There are just too many things that set him off at the oddest times and if I were able to predict them I would be able predict everything. My pitiful human brain could not handle the stress, even with the aide of magic. Thus the insanity bit.

"Oh come on, Zachypoo," I cooed, nudging him with my elbow. "Just think: I live three doors down from you now. And Sneazel has his igloo so he won't bother you and everything will be just fine." I paused in mock thought. "It has to be, now that I think about it. You will see _me_ everyday. Just think about how lucky you are!"

"Can't wait," he grumbled, but when I looked at him this time he was grinning that handsome little grin of his. I sometimes wonder if we would ever be anything more than friends if he was straight. I usually end up with this odd mental image that I will not taint your mind with. A mental image I can blame my heart and over active imagination on.

"I'll paint you a picture," I said in a childish way. I even did the whole raise the shoulders bit and everything, though the motion was lost due to the fact that we were both sitting on the couch and staring at the fireplace.

"Just what I need," he snarled, waving the hand with my hair clasped in it about. "Another piece of your work that I have to put up since it is my duty as bestest friend." He then flicked my hair into my face. I scowled at him, letting out a cat hiss.

"You know you love them."

o-o-o

"Oh Draco, Dear," she cooed, placing her teacup back on its saucer. "It's so wonderful to have you back in the Manor."

I stared at her. Perhaps old age was getting to her already. There is a history of insanity running through the Black Family tree. It never used to be out in the open, actually, it used to be quite the secret, but after Aunt Bella was done her run, well, let's just say things are no longer as secret as they should be. Now, if it has continued its course... "Mother, I was here last week."

"Oh, I know dear," she replied daintily, smiling that smile of hers. The one I have a very hard time saying no to. "But it has seemed much longer than that."

I let out a snort. That's my mother for you. She is always doing so many things lately that even I, who has a hand in over half a dozen major projects, not to mention the smaller ones, would be overwhelmed by all that she does. The way she plans her days, fills them up with so much to do, must make her days seem long and the weeks even longer. I have been working on her to take a vacation, all the exertion can't be good for her anymore, but she will hear none of it. Not that Narcissa Malfoy was ever very good at doing what she was told. Father could contest to that.

"I still think you should take a bit of a break mother," I said with a sigh, knowing that I was going to be shot down regardless of what I think. I always advise her to take a break, every Friday afternoon that we have our weekly tea, in fact. "Just for a week. Perhaps a nice trip down to the islands."

"Why are you always insisting that I should take a break, Draco?" my mother demanded, the coldness that she can bring forth surfacing in an instant. When I was a child that look always made me shiver and obey whatever she had to say. Now, however, I know much better and am not so easily quelled. "Do you think that I am incapable of handling what I have on my tablet?"

"Of course not," I replied, setting down the teacup that had been in my hand. "I know very well that you are more than capable of handling all that you take on. It's just that I am worried that you are running yourself down." Again, I added mentally.

It is something that my mother loves to do. When she is upset about something she will begin to do as many things as possible in an attempt to distract herself, ultimately running herself ragged. When I was younger it would to be to redecorate, or to take up new hobbies that would have her in a room all day. It wasn't until father had been sent to Azkaban that things had gotten really bad.

When father had been arrested, everything under his name became open to investigation. All of the estates, the artefacts and heirlooms, the money, and anything else my father had acquired over the years, were inspected by Ministry officials. It lasted for months until finally, after they had confiscated everything they deemed "dark", they returned what was left to my mother and myself. And she had instantly begun to take in all the fragments and bring them back together. I had been scared, after a time, that I was going to lose a second parent, for I knew she was doing nothing besides working like her life depended on it. Eventually she managed to gain a hold of herself. Then father had died and the cycle had started all over again. I don't know what is ailing her this time. I don't dare to ask.

I watched as my mother's coldness slipped slightly, as though she was remembering who she was talking to. "I know you are concerned for my health, Draco," she said, her voice a lot less cold than before. "But there is nothing to worry about. I have everything perfectly under control." There was the finality in her voice that warned that the subject was now closed. Father never figured out what it meant, and if he had, then he was a hell of a lot more sadistic than I ever gave him credit for.

"Yes mother," I replied, nodding my head.

"Why don't you ever call me 'mum' like I ask?" she said.

This is a topic that she brings up almost as often as I bring up her vacation. It's near impossible for me to think of her by any other name than mother. Father had never allowed me to address her in any other way. Ever. Something that ingrained doesn't leave that easily. I know I sound like I am whipped, but that is just the way it is. Perhaps some day I will manage it, but until that day she will still only be mother.

"I'm working on it," I replied, looking towards my tea cup that was resting on the table instead of her blue eyes. I cleared my throat slightly. "So what is it exactly that you want me to do today?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Just go in and go over the plans and blueprints," she replied. "Make sure that the roof won't be caving in or anything like that."

"I am sure that with the people you have hired, it will," I sneered in response, trying hard to keep the contempt from my voice. I suppose you are wondering why there is contempt in my voice, well, that requires a bit of explanation.

When my father was arrested, and the Ministry were done with their bit, all that was left went back to my mother and me, as I mentioned before. It all should have gone under my name, as is law with the Malfoy family, but I was too young at the time so everything fell under the responsibility of my mother until such a time that I chose to accept what was rightfully mine.

I can tell you this, the thought of having all that wealth, all under my name, not my father's name, was daunting. I remember strutting around for weeks, feeling as though I was the king of the world. Luckily that didn't last for too long. No, the war took care of that and I realized what it was that my father really did to obtain all that wealth as he ruthlessly fought his battles for the Dark Lord. Somewhere in my brain it clicked that all that wealth, all the possessions and property that were now under my name, came about through his ruthlessness. The thought made me physically sick.

I'm not going to go into how it happened, for it is a rather gruesome story, but all you really need to know is that my father died a week before the war ended. My world changed then, more than I thought it ever could. Everything I had known as a child was either taken away or it was radically changed by the victors of the war, mainly Potter and his gang. The worst part was, was that three weeks later I would be of age and I could claim everything that was rightfully mine. Yet I couldn't do it.

As soon as I graduated I left England. I didn't know where I was going, how long I was going to be gone, or what I was going to do. I had no idea why I was really leaving, no real concrete idea anyways. All I really had was a thought that I did not want to become like my father, did not want to be pulled down by my father's estate as his father's had pulled him down. In short I left England, leaving my mother to deal with the estate by herself.

I still feel guilty about it; though the selfish part of me will never give up the five years I stayed away. She threw everything she had into the estate, nurturing it back to the way it was. Unlike my father though, she didn't become ruthless and cut corners on her morals to do it. I found out later, as I didn't have much contact with anyone here while I was away, that she had spent most of her efforts in the arts. She took what was left and wove it into property and shares all concerning art galleries, or theatres, or schools. I think on some level it was her way to contribute back to society after all that my father had taken from it.

"Don't be like that, Draco," my mother told me, a scowl on her pretty face.

"I am not being like anything," I replied stubbornly. I know I am being exactly like that, but I need to continue with my explanation before you can understand why. The answers all lie in my five years spent away from England.

I travelled at first, going from Denmark to Sweden, to the Netherlands and Germany, to where ever else stuck my fancy. There was no real order to where I went. I would stay for a few weeks, even months, seeing if anything about the nation felt right. Nothing did, though I did have a hell of a time testing out the cultures and everything they had to offer. It is a pity that Hogwarts didn't have more exchange programs going when I went to school.

It wasn't until I landed in France that things changed. I had gone there to see if the few cousins I have were still worth knowing. I never really found out for it was at that time that I fell in love. But not with a woman, and no, not with a man either. I fell in love with architecture.

It was by complete accident really. It's almost corny now that I think about it, but I had gone into a small cafe and spotted someone scribbling furiously in a book. For some reason I found myself curious enough to look at what he was doing. He was drawing plan for a building, not a very unique one, it was rather plain to be frank, but the way simple lines could covey so much, show how to create something concrete and _real_ out of lines fascinated me.

I think I scared the man who had been working so industriously. I found out, eventually, that he had lost his hearing while fighting a war for some Muggles. He wasn't a Muggle himself, but he had been a Wizarding missionary at the time. Long story, I am not going into it either. All you really need to know is that some how I became the man's apprentice, and for the next few years I tired to discover everything I could about architecture. Everything, even items from Muggle texts.

I never felt so passionate about anything in my life. I found it even more engaging than a round of Insult the Potter. I was in awe that I had finally found something that I actually enjoyed doing with no strings attached, as strings had been attached to my enjoyment of Quiddtich.

You really don't need to know all the details though, so I won't be telling them to you. I came back to England four years ago and took the estate under my name. I did, after all, have the direction to do something worthwhile with it. This may sound cruel and selfish where my mother is concerned, but it was far from. We created a contract, one that allowed her half of the estate, to do with as she pleased. I was not going to take from her what she had worked so hard to achieve. I could not do that to anyone, not anymore, not after I had finally discovered how rewarding it is to have something you truly care about.

So why the sneering then, I suppose you are wondering. Well, I have established quite a well known company specializing in drafting and architecture. And I am not going to be modest, we're good. We're damned good. Yet my mother did not hire me or my company to design an extension for one of her galleries, no, she had to go and hire my rival. She had to go and hire the one man I can't stand, well, with the exception of Potter.

She claimed that she was trying to avoid cries of nepotism from the press, which I suppose makes sense, but it still makes me mad. There are several other companies in the MEU, why did she have to go to _him_? And then to have me look over his work afterwards? I mentally shook my head. I shouldn't be thinking this way. This is my mother, the only family I have left. But sometimes the things she does simply infuriate me.

It took me a moment for me to realize that she was staring at me, her piercing blue eyes seeming to look right through me, picking out exactly what is annoying me. She didn't say anything though. She never does. It's one of her policies to leave things alone until someone brings them up. Never stops her from meddling behind the scenes though.

"Come now," my mother said, a smile gracing her lips. I could tell that she was trying to infuse happiness into her voice and expression. That's one of the first things I noticed about her when I came back, how she acts happy. Well, not that she is always acting, a lot of the times she really is happy and does not need to act; which was something unheard of when I was younger. She is acting now though, in an attempt to distract me from my issue with her. "Tell me, how are things going with that nice blonde girl that you are seeing?"

"Blonde girl?" I asked, frowning slightly in confusion. For the life of me I cannot remember introducing any woman to my mother since The Cheating Bitch.

"The one you were with when Severus and I bumped into you that one night," she explained, her smile drooping slightly. "She seemed like such a nice girl."

Ah, that girl. Caroline, was it? I'm not quite sure anymore. After a while that all seem to meld into one. One horribly simplistic, greedy, needy, whimpering, dull and rather dense conglomerate of beautiful woman. Nope, haven't seen her in weeks. Thank the gods. If there are any.

"We broke up," I said flatly. Well, it was sort of the truth, seeing as we were never really dating in the first place.

"Oh," my mother replied. I watched as a frown began to furrow its way onto her beautiful face, the implications of the date settling into her mind. "You are beginning to worry me Draco. Ever since you broke up with Jocelyn-"

"I don't want to talk about this," I cut her off. And really, I don't. I don't ever want to talk about it, or think about it, or have anything to do with it ever again. I know it is wishful thinking.

"Fine," my mother said, her frown turning into more of a scowl once more. "But just remember this: when your father was your age we had already had you, not to mention that we had been married for two years."

"I am not my father," I said in the same tone as before. I am not my father; I will never be my father. No one else seems to think this though, much to my aggravation.

"A fact I am all too aware of," she sighed, and I could have sworn a flash of sadness was in her eyes.

I didn't stay too much longer after that. When ever the subject of The Cheating Bitch comes up the conversations don't usually take on a friendly tone anymore. Not that our earlier conversations of today seemed to be all that friendly. It's not usually like that, honest. Perhaps it's just a bad time of the month, if you catch my meaning. I had an excuse to leave early today though, and that is why I find myself walking down the halls of one of her art galleries, trying to ignore the eyes that are following me from their frames.

A set of heavy doors lay before me, and I pushed them open without a second thought. My eyes swept over the room, taking in the dozen or so people who were present within it. All were seated, with the exception of one, who was scratching away at a chalk board with some of the worst penmanship I have ever seen. It was like a five year old had possessed the woman. But I suppose I am being too harsh in saying that. I am sure a five year old could keep their lines straighter than that.

The chatter, which had obviously stopped when I entered, picked up once more as I took a seat at the table. No one bothered introducing themselves to me, which once again makes me wonder why my mother puts up with such individuals.

With noting to do but wait apparently, I found myself looking around the room. The ceiling was vaulted and was decorated in a simple yet interesting enough design. Not something I myself would go for, but then, it wasn't my building. My eyes traveled down, away from the roof, skimming over the people seated at the table. They are your usual stereotypical artsy types; the kinds who seem to think that they have to express themselves through their radical appearance. My eyes continued to wander until they fell on the woman still scribbling away at the black board with her atrocious writing.

She was a red head with a rather average frame. She seemed to be on the tall side, but nothing exceedingly out of the ordinary. She wasn't the type that I usually find myself going after, but her rear end was rather worthy of appreciation. So, having nothing better to do, I appreciated it.

That lasted all of two minutes before the doors opened once more and a man stepped into the room. He was an older man, dressed in suit and tie. By the way he held himself I assumed that he had to be the manager, a Mister John Walters, if my memory serves me properly. He smiled as his eyes looked around the room until they settled on me.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, I am glad to see that you got here alright," the older man said, approaching me. I rose from my seat and shook his hand as he introduced himself and I to him. "Lady Malfoy told us that we should be expecting you." I simply nodded to this and reclaimed my seat. I then watched as he headed towards the head of the table and took a seat of his own, talking to those that were sitting beside him.

"Well, seeing as we are all here," the old man said, causing the red head to turn around. As I watched her movement I felt something spasm inside my chest. I have no idea what it was about, but whatever it had been went away the instant I realized that the woman was scowling at me. Now that is uncalled for, don't you think? I don't even know who she is and she is already scowling at me. She looks familiar for some reason though, but I can't quite figure out from where. "Ms. Weasley, why don't you take it away?"

Weasley. Weasley? She's a Weasley? I looked at her again. Red hair, pale skin, too many freckles. How could she not be a Weasley? I mentally scowled. It figures, a lovely ass such as that and it resides on a Weasley. Just my luck. Well, there go all thoughts that could have lead to something more. Nothing will ever happen between a Weasley and me. Nothing.

"Certainly," she replied, her scowl instantly turning into a smile as she looked at her manager. I resisted the urge to snort, always the suck up that one was. Just like how she used to suck up to Potter back at school. I think that had been one of the most infuriating things about her back in Hogwarts, her devotion to Potter. Her devotion to tormenting me could rank a bit higher though. Not that I didn't fight back. I am a Malfoy after all.

"Well, here are the plans as they stand," the Weasley said, taking out her wand and using it to charm a semitransparent version of the gallery to appear. With another wave it zoomed in on the wing that was to be added. There were little words and images of paintings and sculptures scattered across the floors and walls. I had to raise an eyebrow at that one. Not many people can do that, and I should know seeing as I am in the industry. "Nothing has been changed from our last meeting except for the idea that Jane had to move the light switches a little lower to accommodate for George." She glanced at me then said, "He's our janitor, has been for twenty years."

"And he's always complaining about how all of the light switches are too high up for him," a mousy looking woman with longish brown hair added. I raised an eyebrow at her. "He's a little on the short side." I nodded at that, not really caring. What do I care about their janitor? It is my mother's establishment after all. I am just the stand-in for the moment.

"Personally, all I am really concerned about now is whether the Odd Nerdrum exhibit should be on the third floor instead of the second." Several people nodded at this then she began to grin, looking to the old man. "Or would you rather have it on the first?" she asked him, an irritating twinkle forming in her eyes.

"You know I would," he replied in a voice husky with age. "But we can battle that out once we are in a position to put the exhibits up." She nodded at this, and smiled back at him. I couldn't resist the urge to roll my eyes. This was supposed to be so important that I had to drop everything this afternoon to attend? No one saw, except her.

"And how about you, Malfoy," she said coldly, looking at me pointedly. "See anything that doesn't meet your approval, as that is why you are obviously here, right? To muck things up?" The other people in the room turned and stared at me, waiting for a reaction. I ignored them and sneered at her. Well, I was about to show her, if that was the way she wanted to play.

"As a matter of fact, Weasley," I drawled, leaning back in my chair. "I would recommend putting several more pillars in place on the main floor, especially if you are planning on putting sculptures on the second. You won't have enough of a support structure to keep everything up once people are milling about." I felt my lip curl. Only Hudson would be stupid enough to not realize that. But then, he is always more concerned with appearances rather than safety and practicality.

She scowled at me, but she remained silent. The others in the room burst into speech, muttering and shouting about how I was right and that they should have thought of it before, how their contractor should have thought of it before.

"Thank you, Mr, Malfoy," the old man said, nodding his approval. "Is there anything else that we have overlooked?"

I shook my head. "Nothing that I can see at the moment." I glanced at the model. "I will need to go over it in more detail to be sure though."

"Of course, of course," he replied, looking around at his staff. "Ginny will show you where all the blueprints are being kept." I glanced at Weasley to see that her face had gone rather white.

Honestly, I don't know why she is reacting like this. I mean sure, I am a Malfoy and she is a Weasley and we do have this whole feud going on, but a sneer is all it takes to keep it going. She doesn't need to over react like this. It isn't as if I have done anything to her in the eleven years that I haven't seen her. Perhaps I leave more of an impression than I first gave myself credit for...

"Does anyone else have anything they want to say?" Walters asked, looking around once more. When no one replied he stood up. "Well then, have a wonderful weekend everyone." Similar things were said back to him, and the odd mishmash of people made there way out, leaving me alone with the Weasley. I smirked at her. Well, what else can I do? Well, I can think of plenty of things, but I am not going to get into them at the moment.

"Save it," she hissed, turning away from me as she began to violently shove books and things into a rather ghastly looking side bag. I watched with relative amusement. It seems to me that this woman is a little off her rocker. "And stop looking at my ass, Malfoy."

"Well, hello to you too, Weasley," I responded, frowning at her slightly. I didn't even look at her ass this time. For very long at least. "Haven't seen you in what, eleven years? And all you can say to me is 'stop looking at my ass'?"

"If you weren't such a pig then I wouldn't have had to," she hissed in response, and I couldn't help but frown. Yes, this woman is definitely unhinged. Perhaps what she has is contagious. In that case I should probably be getting away from her as quickly as possible. She dropped her now closed bag onto the table with a clunck and used her wand to banish her fancy charm work away. "But at least some things stay constant."

"Like your idiocy?" I couldn't help myself. She had just opened that one up so nicely. How could I not accept an invitation like that?

"Screw off," she snapped swinging the strap of her bag onto her shoulder. Her hands then came to rest on her hips and she scowled down on me. I looked up at her impassively. This is becoming a very bizarre situation. But then, I think I am beginning to remember exactly why I enjoyed tormenting this girl in response to her attempts to torment me. She always got railed up so easily. Apparently some things really do stay constant.

And for some reason, it intrigues me.

o-o-o

**Works Cited:**

o- "It is like this horrible snowball effect... where the stupid ball of snow keeps getting bigger and bigger until it crashes into something innocent." – This is Lallie's analogy. She created it to explain bad fan fiction.

o- Odd Nerdrum – This is an artist whose art has recently inspired a whole series of my own pieces. He has some very disturbing work, with a style that seems far too old to be painted today. I love it though, and I recommend that you check some of his stuff out.

o- "Hermatize" – Another one of Lallie's wonderful terms. It means to make oneself a hermit, a practice that she has down to an art. I wish I could hermatize as well as she can. :p

o-o-o

A/N: Well, there you go. Draco now has a career and an actual character instead of being Yay! I'm Bah Draco! But yes, hopefully you liked this chapter more, as I like it much more myself. I am hoping it is more realistic as well. Anyhoo, please tell me what you think, it would be muchly appreciated. So, in the words of Ed the Sock, is it smash or trash?


	2. I Can't Get No Satisfaction

Title: Painting an Oyster

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one legged lesbian seagull hotmail com (Please add 3 underscores, one "at" sign, and a period)

A/N: Well, the structure of this chapter is the same as it was before, but it has more content. And more pages. Ginny actually has more friends than just Zach, and Draco does things other than sit around. Yay. I also made them bicker more. I love bickering. I need to find myself another snarky guy who I can bicker with again. I miss him. Not that you need to know about that. :p Oh, and might I say that this chapter's song is the best song _ever_.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing at all. Starving Student/Artist here people.

**Painting an Oyster**

**Chapter 2**

**(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction**

o-o-o

Soundtrack: "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" by The Rolling Stones

o-o-o

"You don't seem to be understanding the issue, Zach," I said in a voice that was a touch louder than it usually is. I could have blamed it on the fact that Britney Spears' _Toxic_ was blasting all around me. I could have also blamed it on the fact that Zach was on the opposite side of the bar of me. I could have blamed it on all those things, but the real reason was that I had a couple drinks in me and I have a tendency to get louder, especially when agitated. As I definitely am at the moment. "He was _staring_ at my _ass_!"

"A lot of people stare at your ass," the blond replied without looking at me, pouring a drink for a customer to my right. I looked at him in surprise. Well, that's news to me. A tambourine in the song thundered through my ears and I scowled.

I hate having to have conversations like these in his bar, I really do. Even if I can get as many free drinks as I like, I still just don't like it. But I don't have much of a choice today. Zach has taken the shift for the night and if I want to talk to him then I have to stay here to do it. Even if it means that I have to put up with Briteny Spears and the other "divas" and rappers Zach enjoys. Make me deaf now please. Even if _Toxic_ is a rather addictive song...

He glanced up at me. "What?" he asked, giving the drink to the person and starting on another. "They do. You do have a mighty fine ass, and I should be able to say so, if you know what I mean."

I continued to glare at him. The man beside me's head shifted and I turned my glare on him. His head snapped back to where it should have been before he began to look at the area of my anatomy that is suddenly giving me so many issues.

"And why have you never _told_ me this?" I demanded, glaring around the bar for other on lookers who needed to be glared at. I don't care if this is a gay bar or not, not all the men in this bar are completely gay, or gay at all for that matter.

"Because I thought you knew," he replied, handing off yet another drink and grabbing the money left for him. "I certainly know I have one hell of an ass. I thought you straight women could tell for yourself as well." My glare deepened. "Here, have another drink." He shoved a margarita my way.

"Well this is grand," I grumbled at him. "Here I am having issues and here you are trying to turn me into an alcoholic." I paused. "Alcohol should not be your tool to comfort me."

"I am not trying to comfort you," he said with a sudden grin. "I am just trying to get you to shut up."

I grabbed the drink and looked moodily at him as I sucked at the straw. "Which is very stupid of you since you know exactly what kind of drunk I am when I am in this state."

His eyes seemed to widen in mock realization and he moved to take my drink away. I pulled it out of his reach. "I thought that you didn't want it," he said, glaring at me now.

"No, I just said that you were trying to turn me into an alcoholic," I said simply, grinning slightly and turning the stool I was on around with my feet.

There were hundreds of bodies moving about to the last strings of Spears' song, all in various stages of dress, flirtation and, well, you know. I have never been able to figure out what the appeal is of all this is. I mean, sure, dancing is fun, but being packed in like sardines with hundreds of other sweaty bodies, moving to music that is so loud that you can't think anymore? Not my cup of tea. That's why I stay at the bar where it is relatively safe. And I say relatively because, as I said before, there are straight men here as well.

I took another sip of my drink. I generally like rum better than vodka, but in this moment it tasted just right. It had just enough bite to try and fight off the day that I had had to suffer through. And it was all bloody Malfoy's fault. Who did he think he was, coming into my workplace and staring at me like I was a piece of meat? It was almost worse than my short work experience in that restaurant in Hogsmead. And let me just say this: why oh why did I volunteer to keep the blueprints in the plan chests in my office? They do not pay me enough to deal with Malfoy as well as all the other shit I have to normally go through.

You know, I haven't felt this angry at someone in such a long time. Actually, he was one of the few people that I could always get angry at (well with the exception of my family that is) for the smallest thing. Apparently that trend has not changed after all this time.

"What's making her all pouty today?" I heard someone ask to my left. I turned my stool around again, bringing a mousy haired someone into view.

"Colin!" I said happily and got off my stool to give the man a hug. I have always found hugging him a little like hugging Fred or George. They are about the same height as me, as is Colin. Colin's still a bit lither than they are though, not that you really need to know this.

"Hey Gin," he said, returning my hug, then taking the stool next to mine.

"Draco Malfoy was looking at her ass, apparently," Zach replied, handing Colin his customary beer. He thinks drinking it makes him manly, I am still not so sure about that.

"You mean as in Draco Malfoy who has recently been recognized for his brilliant architectural designs?" he asked, looking between the both of us. I felt my eyes grow a touch larger. The man is an architect? Let alone that he is a good one? Guess that explains his presence past being just a way to ruin my day. And why he would want to look at the original blueprints so that he could just sit there and sneer at them.

"No, I mean Draco Malfoy the git who used to torment me in Hogwarts," I sneered, finishing off my drink. Didn't realize I have been drinking it that fast. "Besides, how do you know that he's all so grand?"

"Because I had to take photographs of some of his finished designs a few weeks ago. Apparently we are featuring him next month." Colin works for _Wizarding Geographic_, one of the Wizarding world's most prestigious magazines. It was really no surprise to me that he went into photography; I was a little surprised at how far he got though. It is extremely hard to get a job with that company, and they hired Colin on the spot. Sometimes I envy that man and his talent.

"Well how wonderful for him," I replied sarcastically, shoving my empty glass towards Zach and taking a full one back towards me. This one was green, and I wasn't quite sure what it was. "And if he's so wonderful then why won't his mother hire him to expand the art gallery then?"

"Man, you really are pouty today," he commented, taking a sip of his beer. I don't really like beer, but I will drink it if there is nothing else to drink. "She wouldn't have hired him because seventeenth century architecture, like your gallery, is enemy territory." I raised an eyebrow. "It's his old partner, Charles Hudson's area." At my blank look he continued, "They hate each other now for some reason."

"Why does it not surprise me that a Malfoy would hate someone?" I asked wryly.

Though I have met Hudson and I can honestly say that he isn't the most, well, polite person I have ever met. He always comes by my office to drop off the blueprints, which for some reason they like to keep in my office. They say it is because I have the only plan chest in the building, but I happen to know that there is one in the office down the hall from mine as well.

With that thought I let out a sigh, taking a sip of the green drink. It was actually pretty tasty so I took another. At Colin's irritate face as I asked, "And why do they hate each other so?"

"Well, I'm not quite sure," he replied. "All I really know is that the last project that they did together was a disaster. They took their anger out on each other through the design of the building they were working on. Stairs lead to nowhere, certain floors were not accessible in the same ways the floors above and below were, doors lead into brick walls. The worst part was that the building was actually built." He let out a short laughter. "I was just there a few days ago, taking pictures. It was actually quite a fun place to be, even if there was a sort of menacing air about it."

I opened my mouth to respond, but never quite got the chance as someone tapped Colin on the shoulder, distracting the both of us.

"Oh, hi Luna," Colin said, smiling up at the blonde beside him, who gave him a hug as he said it. I waved frantically, and she waved back, grinning as she came over and gave me a hug as well. Luna loves hugs. Everyone she knows gets hugged.

"And why is she drunk already?" the blonde asked, blue eyes alight with mischief as she dropped into the seat next to Colin.

"Draco Malfoy was looking at her ass," Colin replied, grinning and looking from me to her.

"Really?" she asked, leaning forward and looking at me. "And how was that for you?"

"Luna!" I exclaimed, frowning. She just grinned back at me then laughed. "It's not funny!"

"I'm sure it's not," she replied, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

You know, I had once thought that Luna's oddness would pass once she got older. If anything I think she has just gotten her weirdness down to an art, that she has fine-tuned it to be more elegant rather than in your face odd. If that makes any sense?

I glared back at her, allowing Colin to fall into my field of glare as well. These two are my best friends, second in rank after my bestest friend Zach, and of course, Sneazel. They've stuck with me through thick and thin, even during times where if I were them I would have ditched my ass. I honestly don't know why they stick around me but they do, and I love them for it.

"Attractive, rich, talented and well known man checking out your rear end and you go off to pout and complain," she continued, the grin still in place. I narrowed my eyes. "Why does this not surprise me?"

"Because she loves to complain?" Colin supplied, keeping his eyes on his beer. I could see the grin tugging at his lips though.

"That's beside the point!" I declared, my voice getting louder than it had been before. "You guys just don't understand! He was absolutely horrible to me back in school! You guys were there, you saw!"

"People change, Gin," Luna said, spreading her hands out across the bar and looking down on them. She does that sometimes, I have never understood the explanation she gives me for why, and I doubt you will either, so I'm not going to bother explaining it. "And besides, you were just as horrible to him, if my memory is in the right order."

"But he started it!" I said in my loudest voice yet.

"Who started what?" Zach asked, moving back from the other side of the bar. I felt my face heat up slightly as I realized that I hadn't even realized that he had been missing. Some bestest friend I am. "Hey Luna, care for something to drink?"

"Sure, the usual sounds good," she said pleasantly, her Cheshire cat impression dropping from her face. "And how have you been, Zach?"

"Not too terribly," he replied, pulling out a glass and starting on her usual drink. "And you, how have all those words been treating you?" I let out a snort of laughter. Luna and Zach always have the exact same conversation when ever they meet up. I don't even know why they bother, but there must be something about it that I just don't get.

"Oh, you know," she replied, looking over her shoulder. A few years ago she took over as chief Editor of _The Quibbler _after being one of its top journalists for over four years. Her father had claimed that he was getting too old and all he wanted was to hunt for the mysterious animals that are not supposed to exist, and Luna was all but ecstatic to take over for him.

Zach placed her drink down in front of her, and she flashed one of her smiles at him. "Why thank you, Mister Bar Man," she said, then looked over her shoulder again, turning to us all. "I think the music is calling me." With that as an explanation she got off her stool and disappeared into the dancing crowd.

"Well that didn't take long," I muttered, taking her abandoned drink and began to drink it, seeing as the green one was all gone now. Zach frowned at me, and I just smiled back.

"Seems like there are just us wallflowers now," Colin said, with a slight shrug and a drink of his beer. "As usual." Luna usually leaves us after saying hi, apparently unable to resist the call of the music. As I mentioned before, I don't like dancing in places like this, and Colin only likes to dance if that techno-crap is playing. Sometimes I really wonder about my guy friend's taste in music.

"Oh well indeed," I replied, taking another sip of Luna's drink. Damn alcoholism to hell. I want to get drunk. I think I have had a bad enough day to warrant it, so I sat there moodily with her drink and one of my best friends at my side. How pathetic.

I did speak the truth before, about Malfoy being horrible to me back in Hogwarts. He had been. Always trying to figure out someway to make me suffer. It got even worse after his father had been incarcerated. It was almost as if at that point he had to overcompensate for something, take over his father's evilness or something ridiculously Malfoy like that. It had not impressed me much to say the least.

He would walk by and insult me just because he felt he could. Or he would shove me from behind when I wasn't expecting it, causing me to hurt my neck, or he would whack me upside the head instead. We had a few duels, most of which I won, but they were few and far between due to the fact that we always managed to be too loud and got detentions afterwards. I hated him for it. I still do.

I have never been one to forgive that easily, as I think you are all figuring out. I admit this. Still does not change that fact that I still hate Malfoy. Nothing is going to change that. No amount of time between encounters, no amount of words, no amount of flowers. Not that I would want flowers from him, he is a Malfoy after all. Even if he is related to Lady Malfoy, who is the only Malfoy that I can really stand. I think I am rambling, aren't I? Perhaps I need another drink to shut myself up. Like that will happen.

Perhaps I should remove myself from people so I do not have to inflict my rambling on them. Now that is one of the first good ideas that I have had all night. I can go home and ramble to Sneazel. He won't mind. And then I could paint. Yes, painting would be a good idea. I glanced down on my fingernails, absent of the paint that usually resides in my cuticles. It has definitely been too long. Stupid moving. Now I know I am drunk. Listen to me.

"I think I am going to go home," I declared, causing both Colin and Zach to look at me. I glanced at the counter to see several empty glasses in front of me. Where did they all come from? Oh well. I stood up, grabbing my coat. "My head's not feeling so good all of a sudden." And my fingers are itching to get paint on them.

"That's what your friend alcohol does to you, Gin," Zach said, a smirk gracing his lips. "I thought you would have learnt that by now." I stuck my tongue out at him.

"Whatever you say, dear," I replied with a sickeningly sweet smile. "Tell Luna I will see her tomorrow, ok?" I asked, referring to our planned coffee meeting. They nodded in response. "I'll see you next week Colin," I told him.

"Night," he replied with a nod of his head.

"You're not going home by yourself," Zach said suddenly, causing me to turn and look at him. He was staring at me dead seriously. I glanced down at Colin who just shrugged back in response.

"It's ok Zach," I said, smiling at him. "I'm a big girl, I can walk myself home."

"I'm not disputing that," he said, frowning slightly now. "But you're drunk."

"My mother has gotten to you, hasn't she?" I asked sullenly, my shoulders slouching of their own accord. Why does that blasted woman have to try and ruin all my fun? Why does she always have to succeed? Why am I thinking about this right now?

"Just wait right there, I am just going to reassure Peter that I am not going to disappear on him for good," Zach said, turning to walk over to his business partner.

"I'll just meet you outside," I told him, suddenly feeling the need for fresh air.

"And I'll just sit here by myself then," Colin said sadly, looking at me with rather round eyes.

"You're not alone, Colin dear," I assured him, patting his shoulder. "You have your friend drinkypoo to keep you company." I pointed at his beer.

"Aye, and what wonderful company she is," Colin said with fake cheerfulness, smiling at his drink.

"Bye," I said and turned away without another glance.

I then walked towards the exit, dodging the people in my way with a lack of ease that should have frustrated me but didn't. My head wasn't quite clear enough to allow me to be frustrated. A few minutes later I was out in the open again, taking in large gulps of air that wasn't polluted by the stench of alcohol, sex or sweat. There was only one other person outside with me, leaning against the wall by the door, but I ignored him as I appreciated the clean oxygen that was suddenly around me.

With a deep breath I looked up at the sky to see the dimly lit stars twinkling down on me. It's a pity really, that the cities make them dim so. Sometimes I really hate humanity and their pollution. It's one of the things I really miss about the Burrow, my ability to look up at the stars at night and see them clearly, twinkling as though they were diamonds lying on a velvet mat, just for me.

My eyes drifted down and rested on the art gallery, taking in its archaic appearance, and the large banners declaring the current exhibits. My eyes meandered their way down towards the ten foot doors and my eyes narrowed, someone was walking out of them. Someone with blond hair. I glanced down on my watch. What kind of loser works this late on a Friday night? I am ignoring the little voice that is reminding me about the several Friday nights I have given up to finishing paperwork in that blasted building.

He walked down the stairs, smirking slightly as his eyes seemed to fall upon me. I mentally groaned. Is it too much to ask to not see the demon during the night when I don't have to work? Apparently it is.

"I didn't know you swung that way, Weasley," he drawled when he was halfway across the street. The Muggle streetlamps were causing his fair hair to shine in an odd and picturesque way, contrasting perfectly with his black cloak.

I opened my mouth to sneer a response, but I got distracted. For there, before his eyes, was something that shouldn't have been. I couldn't help it, I stared. And nearly giggled as well.

"Since when do you wear glasses, Malfoy?" I asked, still staring at the black half frames resting on the bridge of his nose.

"What?" he asked, confusion clouding his face for a brief instant. He raised his hand and seemed to fumble slightly before he realized he was wearing them at all. I frowned slightly. It seemed to be a very un-Malfoy like thing to do. A very un-Draco like thing to do. I watched as he took them off and tucked them into his cloak. "None of your business, Weasley."

"Fine," I said, then turned and began to walk away. I had only made it a few steps before his annoying drawl met my ears again.

"You're drunk, aren't you Weasley?" he asked. He walked towards me again, coming up at my side, smirking.

"And why would you say that?" I asked, holding my head high and trying to look as sober as I could.

To be honest, I don't feel all that drunk, though I know I am. That's one of the most peculiar things about the sensation, and one of the most dangerous, I think anyways. That you can walk around and feel sober, or make yourself believe that you are sober, yet you really have no control at all. Maybe that is why so many Muggles die in car crashes.

"Because you can't walk in a straight line," he continued to drawl, and I turned to look at him. His hair was still glowing, and suddenly at this close range –and he did seem to be very close to me– it seemed to glow. My fingers twitched and somewhere in the back of my head I got the urge to grasp my paintbrush and reproduce his hair and its stark contrast to the dark world and his dark cloak, as if it was the only light thing left in the universe. I drunkenly quelled the urge.

"I can too," I scowled, pulling myself up to stand straight, or at least, I tried to.

"Then prove it," he said, waving his right hand slightly. He had very long fingers; longer than I ever thought was possible for a person to have. Perhaps it was just the light that was making them look so long. I always wished my fingers were longer.

"I am not going to prance around for you like some whore, Malfoy," I sneered, crossing my arms, teetering dangerously to the right before I managed to pull myself upright. I narrowed my eyes at him in a way that probably made me look like some old drunken spinster. Maybe that is all I will ever become? Sure seems that is the direction my life is going in.

"I am not asking you to," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "All I am asking is for you to prove to me that you can walk in a straight line." Once again he waved his hand with his overlong fingers. They were like twigs on a tree, the knots representing the joints.

"Fine," I said once more, then uncrossed my arms, looked down, and focused with all my might on walking along the road, as straight as I possibly could. One foot in front of the other, arms out for balance, nice and easy. I thought I was doing quite well.

"You're plastered," I heard him grumble, and turned to find him stepping towards me, long fingers reaching out for me. I stopped and frowned. "Well come on then, let's-"

"You can stop right there, Malfoy," Someone said from behind me, and I turned, nearly falling over in my attempt, to see Zach standing a few feet away; all thoughts of Malfoy falling away. There was the oddest look on his face, which was hard to discern since it was cast in shadow. I think if I was sober I would have been able to figure out what it was. Alas though, I am drunk.

"Zach!" I said happily, walking unsteadily towards him. It was getting more and more difficult to walk properly. Perhaps it was a good thing to have allowed him to walk me home. Blast alcohol to hell.

"I take it she's with you then," I heard Malfoy drawl.

To be honest, my mind is a little fuzzy after that and I don't remember much more than leaning against Zach and him taking me home, solid as ever. I must have gotten a hold of my paints at some point though. Why do I say this? Well, when I woke up this morning there was a blond someone on the canvas I had prepared for another project.

I tucked him behind a pile of other canvas and tried to forget I had ever had the urge to paint such a thing.

o-o-o

With a groan I lifted my feet and dropped them onto the coffee table across from the crouch I had flopped myself down on. I was exhausted, and couldn't even be bothered to take off my boots, which, now that I look at them, are a touch on the scuffed side. Oh well, yet another thing for me to deal with today. But not right this moment.

I spent most of the day searching for new draftsmen. We have been lacking in certain areas and I have been hoping to pick up the slack a bit by hiring some new people. Only problem is, is that there are no people that are worth my time hiring. It seems that everyone I interview is either lacking in brains or motivation, neither of which I have the time or patience for. I am getting the feeling that if I don't find some better people soon though I am going to have to deal with them.

That is not why I am all sweaty and exhausted though, if you are wondering. Far from really. I was quite relieved to finally get out of the office and headed down to the pitch. There wasn't a practice scheduled for today, but I definitely needed to burn off all the tension that was building itself inside of me all day. I find a healthy game of catch the Snitch always sooths my nerves, especially when there are no bespectacled gits around me.

I am the seeker for a Quidditch league, filled mainly with individuals who simply love to play the game but don't have the time to play professionally. It's nothing too serious, with the exception of the championship where a shit-load of free beer is at steak, but it's great. There are six teams in the league this year, which is a large increase from last year's four. Apparently we make what we are doing look like fun.

Zabini always laughs at me when he hears I am going off to play on my "wee little Quidditch team", but I have come to realize that the man is just jealous. He couldn't stay on a broom if his life depended on it. And besides, what can you expect from a man who thinks that beating things with sticks in an attempt to make "music" is worthwhile? I have heard his little garage band, and all it sounds like to me is overloud noise. A point which I bring up quite often, I can assure you.

I dropped my head back onto the back of my couch and let my eyes droop closed. Perhaps a little nap before I attempt to move would be a good idea. A very good idea, now that I have my eyes closed...

I was just drifting off to sleep when I heard the fireplace leap to life. I frowned slightly but refused to open my eyes. They were, after all, interrupting my naptime. Well, that didn't sound childish, now did it?

"Hey, Malfoy." Speak of the devil. "Are you awake?"

"No," I grumbled.

"Oh, ok then," Blaise responded, not sounding as though he was going to let me continue my nap. The bloody git. "I just wanted to tell you that I am not going to be able to make it to lunch tomorrow."

I cracked an eye open at this and looked at my friend's head floating in the fireplace. I scowled. "And why not?"

I had to open my second eye as the head in my fireplace began to look rather embarrassed. That is an emotion I hardly ever see on this man's face, and I have known him for about a decade now. What ever is keeping him has to be good then.

"Well, remember that girl I went home with on Saturday night?" he asked, looking from me to the furniture, then back again. I nodded. "Well, she sort of asked me over for lunch tomorrow..."

"So..." I asked slowly, keeping my eyes on him. Something was defiantly up.

"And I said yes..." he replied, eyes still casting everywhere. I sat up.

"Let me get this straight," I said, now frowning at him. "The great Blaise Zabini, Playboy extraordinaire, is going on a second date with a girl?" I let out a bark of laughter. "I don't believe it!"

"Well, believe it!" he snarled back, suddenly looking angry. I smirked at him. Blaise doesn't like to be patronized. Neither do I for that matter. It's probably one of the main reasons why we patronize each other when we want to get the other's goat. "Stop smirking at me, you git," he finally said tiredly.

I suppose you might want some explanation about all this. Blaise and I went barhopping Saturday night, nothing too out of the ordinary, though the aftermath for both of us is apparently. Blaise never has anything to do with the women he goes home with after their "night of passion", as he puts it. He claims that he hates the feeling of being attached to anyone. He also claims that he still can't understand the attachment I had had to the Cheating Bitch. I have been thinking that I perhaps I should agree with him, but now that he has changed his tune... It just sounds so bizarre to me, so ground breaking.

As for why it was unordinary for me, I didn't go home with anyone. It doesn't usually work that way, usually I have some girl hanging off my arm within the first five minutes, but it just didn't happen. I don't know what was wrong, but everywhere I looked there seemed to be some dimwitted bimbo standing about, a replica of the girl next to her, and the one next to her. It never used to bother me, never, but for some reason I just couldn't let any of them interest me. Couldn't get around how boring and the same they all were.

"Fine," I replied, mentally shaking my head to get rid of thoughts I shouldn't be having. "But I hope you have horrible time."

"You know I will," Blaise responded with a wink, and with that his head disappeared from my fireplace, taking the fire with it. I stared at the now empty hearth for a moment.

Can things get any odder? And I am probably just tempting fate by asking that. But really, first I meet up with Weasley after how many years, and now Blaise is going on a second date? I think the world is about to implode. Either that or the Dark Lord is making a comeback, and these are just signs of his arrival.

Shaking my head I got up and headed into the kitchen. Perhaps some jarred red cabbage will make all these odd occurrences seem less odd. Or at least make them seem less recent and foreboding.

I opened the fridge door and looked in, expecting to see a jar of purple cabbage, soaked in a vinaigrette dressing. I stopped and frowned. The jar was missing. I looked around, shoving some other jars and cartons out of the way. No, it really was missing. Did I eat it already?

Suddenly feeling very putout I continued to look into the fridge, my shoulders slouching further and further as the realization sunk in. I have no red cabbage. None. Sure, there are pickles, but pickles just aren't satisfying enough when you want purple, vinegary food. Yes, they are crunchy and sound satisfying when you chew them, but they don't have that blast of sweetness when you are halfway _through_ chewing them. Now I really want red cabbage. But there isn't any.

It was in that moment that I realized exactly how pathetic I am. I am slouching and grouching because I don't have any red cabbage. Shouldn't I be making more of a fuse over the fact that I can no longer have casual sex? I mean it really is true. If I can't stand the women in the bars then there is no way that my lifestyle is going to be sustainable. And isn't sex more important then red cabbage? My stomach doesn't seem to think so. See how pathetic I am?

Pulling myself up to stand straight I closed the door to the fridge and headed out of the kitchen. Well, if I want red cabbage then I am just going to have to go to the store and buy myself some more. There, that will be the first step in recovering from my patheticness. The next step will be to figure out how to get myself some satisfaction without having to go to bed with one of those mundane women that seem to infest the bar scene. And I already realize that I can not simply get drunk and go to bed with one, for then I will only wake up in the morning with a hangover and one of them. Not fun.

I moved towards my bedroom, intent on having a shower, pulling my shirt off as I went. It landed on the floor along with my pants, after I kicked off my scuffed up shoes. I don't feel like dealing with them today, so they can just stay there until I do. I meandered my way into the bathroom then stopped and looked at myself in the mirror, taking in my tousled hair and pale skin. Why wouldn't any woman want this? Not that I am completely narcissistic, but seriously, I am far from ugly. Now if only I could find someone whom I can stand. For some reason I feel as though it is going to be harder than it sounds.

I took a quick shower and changed into a fresh set of clothes, then, feeling much better, I headed towards my door. It took me a moment to find my keys, and then my wand as well, but I managed. I then threw my cloak on over my shoulders, glanced in the mirror above the table –just to make sure I did actually look presentable– then headed out the door, intent on getting red cabbage.

You know it's funny. They call it red cabbage but it really is purple. Shouldn't they be calling it purple cabbage? It's just like people with red hair. They say they have red hair when in reality usually the hair is more orange than anything else. Well, that isn't always true I suppose. Weasley's hair is darker and more auburn than orange, but her brothers' hair is more orange. Still doesn't explain why they call it "red cabbage" though.

There is nothing particularly unique about this grocer, but it's close to my flat so I don't really care. There is no real point in Apparating to a fancier grocer just so that I can get red cabbage. Maybe for other things, but not red cabbage. I happen to know that this place sells the right kind. Aisle six, beside the other jarred foods.

I was right on my way to the aforementioned aisle, when I saw a flash of red to my left, and for some reason I stopped and walked backwards, probably looking like an absolute fool, until I could see what it was. I don't know what possessed me to do that, and I certainly don't know what I had expected to see. All that was there was Weasley. I frowned slightly. Weasley who was crouched on the floor, looking at large bags of pet food.

Before I knew what was happening I was making my way towards her. Her hair was pulled back this time, showing off her neck, which was slim and covered in freckles. If the freckles weren't there she would have had an attractive neck. I wonder if she has freckles on that ass of hers. I should not be thinking these things.

"Drunk again Weasley?" I asked, not even realizing the words were coming out of my mouth until they were out. She looked up at me with mild surprise, her face then drooping into a look of irritation. It really is quite fascinating that I can evoke this out of her. What have I done lately to warrant such animosity?

"Why would you say that, Malfoy?" she sneered, narrowing her eyes. Her face does get some quite unsightly wrinkles when she does that.

"Because you are examining dog food," I offered, glancing down on the purple bag which she had half pulled off the shelf. "And I get this feeling that you can not be that desperate for food since you are in the middle of a grocer."

Here eyes narrowed further, and I couldn't help but smirk back. "It's for my _dog_," she said, drawing out the last word as if I was an idiot. My smirk slowly began to turn into a scowl. Here I come to say hi and she attacks me. Ok, I know I am not the most innocent party here, but still. Does she have to be so bloody rude? "You know how dogs eat dog food?"

"And why would a pureblood witch such as you own a dog over a cat?" I drawled, leaning against the shelf and looking down on her. My sinuses began to twitch though, so I pulled back into a standing position, and took a step away. Apparently no one owns a ferret in town for their food seems to be covered in dust.

"Because cats have this nasty habit of trying to take my arm off," she replied, turning her head away from me and looking instead on the bag of food, exposing her neck once more. It was almost graceful the way it slopped down into her shoulders. I shook my head. Bad thoughts. She's a Weasley, remember? Red hair, freckles, Weasley. "And my dog has yet to attempt a go at it himself."

I stared at her. Who talks like that? Her apparently, but still. I think this woman is turning out to be more insane than I initially gave her credit for.

"It has been such a lovely time, Malfoy," she said, getting up on her hunches and grabbing the bag of food. She lifted it with apparent ease and dropped it into the shopping cart that was beside her. I was rather stunned at how easily she lifted that bag, but I wasn't about to say anything out loud about it. So what if the Weasley is stronger than I thought she was? "But I really must be going."

With that said she turned and pushed the cart away from me, her hips swishing away as if she was inviting me to look. Now that would be very twisted indeed if that was the case. She acts as if she hates me but really she wants me. I am Draco Malfoy, after all, who wouldn't want me? And I think I have gone a bit too long without sex. Right, first the cabbage, then we work on that problem. With this in mind I turned and headed over to aisle six.

It took me a total of two minutes to find my red cabbage and head off to the tills. There was only one till left open at this hour, and of course fate made it so that a certain red head was standing in front of me. Sometimes I wish fate would just role over and die. She seemed to have accumulated quite a bit of food since the last I saw of her. How does a person get that much food in three minutes? An image flashed through my mind of her running along an isle with her arm stuck out, knocking random things into her cart. Well, she does seem unbalanced enough to do that, don't you think?

"Sure you have enough money to pay for all that?" I drawled, coming up behind her in line, glancing at the total as it stood, items still adding to it. She glanced at me, letting out a hiss of annoyance.

"You'd be surprised how much I can afford, Malfoy," she sneered at me, frowning.

"I suppose it all depends on the profession then?" I sneered back. Low shot I know, but I couldn't help myself. It was a touch too easy. Though as to why I am even bothering is beyond me. I am only giving her an actual reason to hate me. I suppose giving her a reason is better than her having no reason at all.

I paused in my thought. Well, I suppose she does have a real reason to hate me. I did torment her back at school. Nothing worse than what she did to me, but still. If that is what it is then she can really hold a grudge...

"And to imagine, my back doesn't even hurt anymore," she said in a dead serious voice. I found myself staring at her. I hadn't been expecting that kind of wit. She rolled her eyes at me, and turned to the cashier, just as he was stating the total, a dumbass grin plastered on his face. I scowled while she smiled sweetly at him, handing over a debit card.

"It's been a treat," she said with a sugary sweet voice. The sneer on her face belied it though. And with that she strode off with her cart, now filled with her bagged goods, and went out the sliding door into the night.

o-o-o

I hate him, I really hate him. Who does he think he is coming up to me and asking if I am drunk? Well excuse me if I have a dog who needs food. It's not like he knows what it is like. He doesn't have anyone to feed. At least, I don't think he does, save himself that is, otherwise why would he be in the grocery store? Maybe he is such a loser that that is where he likes to hang out, so that he can get a feel for what it is like to be a common person.

All thoughts about the stupid ferret came to a screeching halt as the doors automatically opened and I stepped outside. The fog had rolled, and it was thick. Thicker than I remember it ever being in a long time. Not since I was a little girl and got lost in it with my umbrella. I shuddered. I don't like the fog.

I looked around at it wearily, not quite trusting myself to step anyfurther. What happens if I get lost again? What if I never find my way home? What if someone jumps me while I am trying to find home? Stop. I am being ridiculous. I am a twenty seven year old witch. I own a wand, which eliminates the possibility of all those outcomes. All I have to do is shrink my food down and use a Point Me spell a few times and I will be just fine. Just fine.

"Not scared of a little fog, are we, Weasley?" a voice drawled in my ear, and despite myself I jumped. I then turned and scowled at the stupid blond standing just behind me. Can't he just leave me alone?

"I thought I told you goodbye," I sneered, taking out my wand and using it to shrink my groceries down small enough that they fit into my purse. I zipped it shut and scowled at the man once more. He was staring at me again. Damnit, leave me alone! "Well?"

"No, you said it had been a treat," he drawled back, smirking now. "That does not constitute a goodbye."

"Well, in my world it does," I replied, then turned on my heel and took a step forward into the sense suppressing moisture.

"Well then I think your world is a mite fucked up," he said, his voice now to my left. I turned and glared at him. He was walking beside me. For some reason it didn't bother me as much as it should have. Great, I get a little scared and all the crap Malfoy has done to me conveniently falls away just so that I can feel safe. What rubbish. "If you don't mind my saying so."

"Well, I do," I hissed, turning away from him and trying to see where I was going. It was useless though. I extended my hand out in front of me and my fingers disappeared. "Now, will you leave me alone?" There, that should deal with this stupid feeling of security. At least I tired to get rid of him. Not my fault if he actually doesn't leave. Please don't leave. I did not just think that.

"I don't think that is going to be possible," he said with a shrug. I glared at him, waiting for an explanation. "We both seem to be going in the same direction, Weasley. I would just end up trailing you."

"Well, that would be better than having to smell your stupid ferrety smell," I snarled, crossing my arms. Ok, that was beyond childish. Where are all these insults coming from? I certainly haven't used them, since, well, when I was insulting him back at school I suppose. No wonder he always wanted to torment me. I was a retard.

"I do not smell," he replied with as much dignity as a person can have when they say such a thing.

"And how do you know that?" I asked, looking at him once more and giving him a sniff. Ok, so he didn't smell like anything but cologne –rather nice cologne now that I actually sniff at it– but I can't very well declare that he no longer smells. I would sound like an even larger geek than I already do. Why do I care if I sound like a geek around Malfoy? It's not like I care all that much if it is anyone else. "You only notice something smells different when you first smell it, then you get desensitized to it. You have been walking around for who knows how long since you last bathed, how would you know if you smell or not?"

"I had a shower before I left my flat," he scowled, head going up a little higher, looking down on me past his large nose. His nose is rather large, now that I have a closer look at it. I suppose now is not the time to tell you that I have a fascination with noses. "There is no way that I can _smell_."

I would have laughed at his response, but never quite got then chance as my knee crashed into something and I stumbled forward with a yelp. I should have hit the ground but something stopped me, pulling me back into a standing position. Well, someone really. Three guesses as to whom it is; the first two don't count.

"Let go of me, Malfoy," I sneered, looking down on what I now realize is a trunk of a car. He was holding onto my upper arm with a rather tight grip. "I know you want to show off your seeker reflexes, but it doesn't mean you have the right to touch me." Well, that sounded ungrateful, now didn't it? He's just Malfoy though. Now, that sounded even worse.

"My mistake," he sneered, releasing my arm and pulling away. I stood up straight and scowled at him. He was scowling right back. Oh great, now I have bruised his almighty ego. Maybe now he will leave me alone. "I didn't realize you were such a touchaphobe."

"Only when it's you touching me," I snapped back, resisting the urge to rub my arm where he had grabbed onto me. Instead I turned my attention down to my knee, which was looking rather red from where it was sticking out of the bottom of my skirt. It was throbbing now too.

"Stupid car," I hissed, giving it a kick, which was probably a stupid thing to have done because I am wearing flip-flops and not shoes. I mentally swore at my stupidity.

Malfoy let out a bark of laughter; it was cold and condescending, no warmth in it at all. I glared at him, one of my worst glares. He didn't even flinch. Ron always flinches when I glare at him like that. Why am I comparing Malfoy to my brother? "Just when I thought you couldn't get anymore retarded." He let out another laugh.

"Oh, piss off," I growled, turning away from him and hobbling away in the direction I thought my flat was in. Bloody hell, that _hurt_.

"Now that wasn't nice, Weasley," he drawled, the sound of laughter still in his voice. I glared at the fog before me, not bothering to turn and direct it at him. Maybe he could feel it through the back of my skull.

"I don't care," I grumbled, trying to walk properly while my knee throbbed. I think I am going to have to have the thing amputated. It won't bend properly anymore. Stupid Muggle contraption. Why does my father find them so fascinating? All they do is pollute the world, kill people, and attack people's knees!

"Point me," I heard Malfoy mutter, and I turned to find that his wand was out and pointing forward. Realizing it was a good idea I took out my own and preformed the same spell. My wand pointed in the same direction as his and I scowled at it. Great, I was still stuck with him.

"You know, you look like a fool hobbling about like that, Weasley," he drawled from beside me as we continued our trek forward. I was keeping an avid eye open for another car which would try and finish the job of the first. I could just hear Mad-eye Moody bellowing "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" in my head. Ah, you have to love that crazy old cook.

"Well, why don't you build me a wheel chair or something," I said with exasperation, throwing my hands into the air and glaring at him. I don't know why that declaration required that much movement, but apparently it did. "Seeing as you are the world renowned architect."

"You say that as if it is an insult," he replied. His voice was neutral, yet I could have sworn I saw something flicker across his face. Am I getting through the tough shell of Draco Malfoy? I was never able to do that back at school. Why do I care? "At least I am not a whore."

"I never said I was a whore," I sneered, going back on the defensive again. Ok, so he still operates in the same way. I lash out he lashes back with more oomph. Well then. Why do I care? Why am I baiting him?

"You said that you worked on your back," he replied with a drawl. I frowned at him. Well, I suppose I did, didn't I? But there are lots of jobs that you can do on your back. Ok, not so many, but still.

"So, how do you know I am not a Yoga teacher," I demanded. It was the first thing that popped into my mind. Don't ask.

"Are you?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in what seemed to be mock curiosity.

"No," I snapped, turning my head away from him.

"Then what are you?" he demanded, crossing his arms and looking at me coolly. It was as if he was daring me to tell him what I do for a living.

"What's it to you?" I asked suspiciously. For some reason I was reluctant to tell him what I do. Which is silly. No matter what I say or do I know he's going to have some sort of snarky comeback.

"Sorry for trying to have a civilized conversation," he sneered back, turning away from me, jamming his hands into his pockets. I glared at him. Why couldn't he just leave?

"Pfft," I let out through my teeth. "Civilized conversation with you? I would rather gouge my eyes out with a plastic spoon." Actually, I wouldn't. I don't know why I bothered saying it, it just felt right.

Maybe that is why I am egging him on. It is rather thrilling to have someone to battle with who isn't related to me. There isn't that line that you can't cross because they are a member of your family. With Malfoy we can leave and forget the other ever existed. At least for a while, since he came back into my life unfortunately. Now that I think about it though, that was always the appeal in an encounter with Malfoy back in school, even if it meant I came away with more bruises, both emotional and physical, than I had before. It still was rather exciting though. Is that masochistic of me?

"I'm a painter," I said, breaking the silence that had descended around us. He turned and looked at me blankly, hands still in his pockets.

"A painter," he said flatly.

"Do you have a problem with it?" I asked, feeling myself bristle again. Why do I keep doing this?

"No," he said slowly, frowning slightly. "I thought that you worked in the Art Gallery though."

"I do that too," I admitted. Somehow that aspect of my life had slipped from my mind when the topic of what I do arose. It was almost as if painting is all I should be doing and I didn't want him to know about the gallery bit. Which makes no sense.

"And what do you do in there?" he asked, his tone flat. I glanced at him, taking in his large nose again. The urge to paint it rose within me, but I squashed it back down. I don't need to wake up to another small heart attack. The urge was persistent though. Damn him and his large nose.

"I find new artists whose art we can display in the gallery," I replied.

"Is your own art in there?"

"What?" I asked, caught slightly off guard. I turned to look at him once more to find that he was watching me impassively. I frowned slightly. "Well, no," I said slowly, and suddenly it seemed very ridiculous for my art _not_ to be in there. It should be in there. But it isn't. And it suddenly makes me feel very depressed.

"Hmm," he replied, and looked away from me. I watched him, and saw his lip twitch as though he was trying to hold back a grin. I frowned. I don't think I am going to like the result of that twitch. "Are you sure you're not a whore?"

"Malfoy!" I exploded, feeling my face growing red. I hate it when it does that. It takes so long for it to stop burning and return to its normal colour.

"What?" he demanded, looking at me without turning his head. I glared at his profile and his large nose. There was a grin playing across his lips now. Apparently the twitching is a warning sign for it. "I am only trying to make sure."

"You're a fucking arse," I hissed, my lips curling in distaste. Why did I say that I enjoy this? I don't. I really don't. Can't he just die and leave me be?

"Well, it's better than being a whore," he replied. "Unlike some people I have the misfortune of knowing." He paused once more, seeming to think about something that I feared he would reveal to me. "Since I know you, could I get a discount?"

"Gah!" I shrieked, and pulled out my wand. I watched as he took half a step back, wearily watching my hand. I had to smirk at that. Well, it seems that he hasn't forgotten Hogwarts either. "Point me!" I half shrieked instead of the hex Malfoy had probably been expecting.

My wand swivelled and pointed in the same direction as it had before. Malfoy pulled out his own wand and repeated the spell. I watched as his wand spun, stopping so that it pointed to the left. Finally, the git will be leaving me.

Sticking his wand back into his pocket he continued to move forward, in the direction my wand had pointed. I stayed still and scowled at him as his figure began to disappear into the fog.

"Where do you think you are going?" I demanded, my scowl deepening as he turned and stared at me with an eyebrow raised. It was a simple enough question. It did not require any attitude to answer it.

"This way," he replied with a shrug. "Coming?"

"Not if you are going that way," I replied stubbornly, surprising myself. I am not usually like this. Since when did I turn into Queen Bitch Ginevra?

"Alright then," he replied with a shrug, and then disappeared into the fog.

I stood there, suddenly feeling very stupid indeed. And very alone. Somehow, being with Malfoy the entire way had made the fog seem like nothing but a nuisance. But now I was in it by myself again. And I don't have my umbrella with me. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck begin to rise.

I looked forward, blindly trying to find him in the fog, to figure out where he had gone. Yet I couldn't see anything at all. I strained my ears, but all I could hear was the pounding of my own heart, which was beginning to get louder. It was like I was standing in a room and a curtain had been dropped down all around me, leaving me only to myself. Or I was in a haunted house. Or something equally as desolate and daunting.

As I looked blindly forward, it seemed as though something was moving ahead of me, but I wasn't sure. How could I be seeing something unless it was right on top of me? I should be able to hear it breathing, whatever it is. I took a step back but the shape was still there. It had to be my imagination. There couldn't be anything right in front of me. Just standing there, staring at me. What if its face is horribly mangled, twisted into a wicked grin? Or its clawed hand is reaching out to get me, slowly inching forward, ready to drag me into oblivion.

There can't be anything there. Could there?

I suppose now is a good time to say I have an overactive imagination. I avoid scary movies like the plague because I will freak myself out afterwards, my eyes playing ticks on me, my mind convincing me that there is something, someone, there in the room with me. Mundane noises become signs of horrible creatures, shadows silent stalkers, waiting to do whatever it is that they do to me. Sometimes I really hate my imagination.

Something landed on my shoulder, and I let out a yelp of surprise. Adrenaline rushed through me and I scrambled to get away, not looking to what was attacking me. I didn't want to see it. I didn't want to see that my fears have been proven real; that I really did have a rational reason to have them. There is something in the fog with me! I wasn't simply seeing things! That claw finally got close enough to grab me! Merlin! The monsters are _real_!

"Weasley, calm down!" Malfoy's voice suddenly sliced through my adrenaline rush. As quickly as it had arrived it dropped away, leaving me feeling foolish and suddenly very tired. I turned and looked at Malfoy, my pulse slowly returning to normal. "You haven't moved," he said, looking at me with an impassive face. I had the urge to look away, but resisted. If I looked away I would look like an even bigger fool.

"I have so," I lied, shrugging his hand off of my shoulder. It felt cold.

"Whatever you say," he replied with a shrug. He began to walk once more in the direction of my flat, and I silently followed him, hating myself every step of the way.

o-o-o

**Works Cited:**

o- The Building Colin described is actually based off a building that is on the University of Alberta's campus: BioSci. It's a majorly screwed up building that if just as Colin explained. Some say the architects were told to do it by psychologists who wanted a giant rat maze, while others say the Engineers were just mad at each other. Either way it's a creepy building.

o- "Touchaphobe" – A word Gin Chan came up with to refer to my dislike of being touched. For further explanation, please read my story "Touchaphobia".

o-o-o

A/N: Well, I think that ending went on for a few too many pages, don't you? It was oober fun to write though, and I couldn't bring myself to cut any of their bickering, so I left it. But yes, how did you like it? I am rather fond of it, though that probably means that everyone else will hate it. Oh well.


	3. A Change

Title: Painting an Oyster

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one legged lesbian seagull hotmail com (Please add 3 underscores, one "at" sign, and a period)

A/N: I am much happier with this chapter this time round. I am not completely satisfied, but I think it blows its predecessor out of the water. There's more happening in it this time, and it's quite a bit longer as well. Yay! So yes, please enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even my sanity. I sold that.

**Painting an Oyster**

**  
Chapter 3**

**A Change**

o-o-o

Soundtrack: "A Change" by Sheryl Crow

o-o-o

I stared down on the paper before me, my left hand resting on the drafting head, waiting to move it. The building needed something else, something unique and practical, yet the idea wouldn't get into my head. I clicked the button on the drafting head several times, slowly clicking faster, but that didn't help any either. I glared down on my hand, and it stopped its clicking. Good. My right hand though, clutching my pencil, began to tap it against the drafting table. Bloody hell, do I have no control over my appendages?

No, it certainly doesn't seem that way. I don't seem to have control over much these days. I mean, look at what happened between me and Weasley. Nothing actually _happened_ –I'm desperate but not that desperate– but I walked the bloody woman home! And that wasn't the worst part either; I had tried to do it twice in the same week.

Well I couldn't just leave a drunken woman wandering the streets at that hour on a Friday night. Something could have, and probably would have, happened to her. I wouldn't let that happen to anyone. Hey, I might have been a Slytherin but I am not a complete bastard. And the second time she just looked so perturbed, so disturbed by the fog. I suppose you could say that it was coincidence that made our flats lie in the same direction. I'm still blaming fate. Either way, I would have walked her home regardless.

What's wrong with me? Since when do I walk women home and not expect anything in return? Not that I want anything from Weasley, even if she does have a very fine ass, and an attractive neck. But I have discussed this issue with you before, and you know exactly why I don't want anything from her.

But seriously now, what has gotten into me? She is a bloody Weasley and I should be keeping my distance, even if she gets peculiarly riled up when I am around. And it is rather fun to have someone to argue with about pointless things. Gah. How can it be fun to argue with someone?

With a hiss of annoyance I pushed my rolling chair back with my feet, leaning back with my legs extended under my table. It is a very large table, one of the biggest standard sizes. It was more difficult to acquire than it should have been. Apparently with the new way of Muggle computers drafting tables are becoming out of date, being tossed or tucked away in corners. It's sad, because personally I find them beautiful, in their table like ways. Working with your hands is the only way to do something properly. I have tried using those blasted computers before, and after a while all I wanted to do was reach into the screen and rearrange the lines as I wanted them. Sure, they can do a lot more things more easily than we can do on the tables, but they are just so restricting and cold. Not that you need to hear all of this.

It seems that I am a dying breed though. Most of my employees use those blasted contraptions, even if this is a wizarding company. They will not say it to my face, but they claim that my drafting table and I are out of date, that we are fossils. But I feel that I am retaining something that none of them have remembered about, the power of one's imagination. It's easy to click a few buttons to create a line on the screen, but it takes a bit more thinking to develop that line on paper with a pencil and a ruler. Or to figure out where, and how large a curve should be. I am getting this feeling that all of you are disagreeing with me. Well, go ahead. I don't care if I am the only one in the world who has my point of view; I am not getting rid of it.

I pulled myself up to sit straighter then stood up, turning away from the table. Well, it seems I am turning from one internal argument to another. I glanced out the window to where I have a lovely harbour view, then turned to the other window across the room, which exposed the shop to me. I walked over and looked down on the two dozen men and women working away with wood and other contraptions, making models and other such things. I always find it rather soothing to watch them work. I miss working in the shop, as was part of my training, but I no longer have time to tinker around down there. No, I have too many pages of drafts to do. Pages that just don't seem to be happening today.

I shouldn't have gone near her Friday night. That's where it all started. I should have just let her be, and then I could have kept her out of my mind on Saturday night and got laid. (And there is no denying it now, I realize that _she_ is the reason all the other woman suddenly seemed so dull. Though as to why is still beyond me.) With that problem solved I wouldn't have needed to console myself with red cabbage (which tasted extremely good when I got home) or wouldn't have encountered her and had to walk her home. See, it's all her fault. Perhaps I need a Time Turner so I can go back in time and keep myself in mother's gallery for five more minutes. Then I might be able to actually get some work done. Or some satisfaction for that matter.

I just don't understand why I can't get her out of my bloody head. She's nothing special. She's nothing unique. She's a Weasley. And she is more than slightly neurotic. Actually, I think she is rather insane. But then, she is a painter, so perhaps that just comes with the territory or something. I don't know, but she's a loony. A blasted loony who has wormed her way into my head and is not getting out.

The fireplace leapt to life beside me, and I turned to see the head of the old man from the gallery floating in there. I turned and looked at him, noting the creases of worry on his face.

"Mister Malfoy," the man said, his voice carrying the worry that was on his face. I felt something tighten in my chest. "I'm so glad I got a hold of you. There's been an accident."

o-o-o

I still can't get over the fact that I let him walk me home. I mean seriously, I am a grown woman, I do not need to be walked home. I should be old enough to get a grasp on my fear of getting lost in the fog. I should be able to take care of myself perfectly well. But I still let him walk me home. And then the bloody bastard had to smirk at me, holding to door to the lobby open as if he _knew_ exactly what was running through my head. I hate him.

Even though I can admit that our verbal banter is fun, and well, exciting really, I am not saying that I like to be around him. He's still the same bloody arse I knew back in Hogwarts, that smirk proved it to me. Sure, his nose might be bigger, he might be older, more filled out, more handsome, but his interior is still the same. He has just learnt to cover it up better is all. And I am not going to let myself be tricked by it like other people seem to be.

Honestly? Best Architect or whatever it is? How could anyone award that git with anything? He should be locked away so I never need to see him again. I am going to make it my new job to avoid him. Then I won't have to see his stupid pale face with that smirk plastered all over it, mocking me.

My knee throbbed suddenly and I looked down on it, scowling. I had to start wearing nylons to cover up the huge bruise that I now have on my knee. Either that or wear pants instead of skirts, which is not a fun choice if you ask me. It throbbed again. Well, perhaps there is a reason to mock me. It seems only an idiot worthy of mocking would walk into a parked car and get a monster bruise like this. No. What am I saying? There is not. The bloody git should just leave me alone. I don't need him.

"I'm always scared that one of those things is just going to fall down and squish someone," the woman beside me said, pulling me out of my mental tirade against Malfoy. The git seriously irritates me, but I think you have figured that out already, haven't you?

I turned to look at the woman beside me. She was staring at the support beam that was slowly being lifted into the air, magic allowing it to defy gravity. I glanced at the metal beam with little interest. It wasn't the first one to rise into the air, and I am certain it will not be the last.

"And it would make such an awful racket too. Imagine how many people would go deaf," she continued. I always hate it when she rambles on like this, and I realize that she is not rambling at the moment, but I assure you, it will come.

"You mean the ones that don't get squished?" I asked sadistically, glancing at her once more. She was nodding. Apparently she hadn't picked up on my sarcasm. She never does though, especially when she is this kind of mood.

You see, Annabelle is a little on the paranoid side, to say the least. It seems that every minute of every day she has something to be worried about. Like this one time she thought that she had a stalker and refused to go home for over a week. She slept in the Murphy exhibit the entire time, claiming that his portraits could not stalk her because they had no eyes.

I didn't mind her so much when I first met her, actually, I found her rather entertaining. How could you not find a person who has more problems than yourself entertaining? But it got old eventually. Now I make a point of tuning her out. All I have to do is nod a few times perhaps say "mm hmm" a few times, and she will be perfectly content to just talk away. I know it sounds mean, but if you seriously listen to her all the time you run the risk of becoming as paranoid as she is. Which is a curse I don't wish upon anyone, well, save Malfoy perhaps.

Who does he think he is anyway? I know you don't want to hear this, but I am going to say it anyways. Seriously, who does he think he is? The great big architect who is so much better than me, the red headed starving artist? I am certainly not starving. Not at all. Actually, I would tend to think that I am a little over fed.

Gah. I don't know why I am obsessing over him. Yes, he is a git; yes he is back from where ever in hell he was before, and yes, he did walk me home. Doesn't mean I have to be thinking of him all the time, his stupid smirk permanently etched into my mind. It's not like I see him all that often either. If I would just be indifferent to him I am sure he won't smirk at me anymore. Perhaps I should just get a lobotomy and solve the problem all together...

"Oooh, they're lifting another one," Annabelle's voice sliced through my mind, silencing my war against Malfoy once again.

I looked at her to see her wringing her hands together, looking up as another large beam rose into the air. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Nothing was going to happen. I don't even know why we are here.

Actually, I do know why we are here. A section of our gallery is open to Muggles, and because of this, we had to inform the Muggle higher-ups of our plans to expand. There was a group of them that was supposed to be coming in today to see that everything was beginning smoothly. If you ask me it is a touch too early, seeing as they only started construction on Monday. Oh well, we have to let the Muggles have their way, or there will be consequences. It was our job to give them the tour. How fun for us.

Actually, it's not that horrible of a job, I mean I am getting paid to do it, but I would rather be at home painting. Is that horrible of me? My paints seem so much more entertaining than watching beams being lifted into place by surprisingly unattractive men, tuning out Annabelle as she tells me why I should not have a shower in my house. The mould can kill you, you know. Well, I didn't know, but I do now.

"Let's just go home and sleep," I said, stifling a yawn. Well, I have been here since eight this morning. I was running tours of the gallery first, talking loudly so the people at the back of the groups could hear me. I had four of them today, all of which are rather new but I have run through them often enough now that I am finding it difficult to keep cheerful while I lead them.

We run the tours in circuits, every week a different person. Some how I managed to get the duty two weeks in a row, which I am still trying to figure out. It doesn't sound like too bad of a job, but it cuts the time I usually use to do my paper work out of my mornings, forcing me to stay later in the afternoons, which in turn cuts down on my painting time. Sometimes I really hate this job.

It's odd though, I have been running these tours for almost a week and a half now, and I am getting right sick of them. Yet there are people who go on these tours everyday, looking at the exact same paintings and hearing me say the exact same things. Actually, two people are standing out in my mind at the moment: an elderly woman who I don't think is all there anymore as she cruises around in her remote control chair, and a middle age man, whose impassive grin sometimes really creeps me out. Sometimes people really worry me.

"You're not supposed to sleep in the afternoons," Annabelle insisted, her eyes still carefully watching the beams rising into the air. "It alters your sleeping patterns which will ultimately deplete your immune system and allow you to contract a rare tropical disease and die."

"And where would I get that tropical disease?" I asked. Well, I would like to know.

"Bananas," she said simply.

"Bananas?" I asked, feeling one eye grow slightly larger than the other. "And when was the last time you heard of someone dying from bananas?"

"Last week," Annabelle responded without hesitation. "I read it in _The_ _Quibbler_."

_The Quibbler_? Has Luna been meandering into unknown and rare diseases again? If she has I am going to have a word with her. The last thing I need is to hear about all the wonderful things tiny microscopic creatures can do to me if they have half the chance. Not that it's Luna's fault, well, perhaps it is since she _is_ the editor...

"And you believed it?" a new voice asked from behind us. We both turned to see Lady Malfoy standing there, a light blue hard hat set atop her head, matching her robes. I distractedly thought about how my yellow hard hat must look absolutely horrid on my head. Good thing I can't see it.

"Of course," Annabelle said, nodding her head at the woman before her.

Lady Malfoy, on her part, seemed to handle my paranoid co-worker pretty well. She didn't outright sneer so much as look down on the woman with aloof distaste. Everything about this woman seems to be aloof. Aloof and beautiful. It is almost as if she is timeless, the way she looks. I wonder if Malfoy will age the same way. Somehow I have my doubts.

"I am assuming that the Muggles have yet to arrive since you are both standing about here," Lady Malfoy said, turning her attention to me.

I nodded my head. "They were supposed to be here about an hour ago," I told her, glancing down on my watch. It seems to be a constant across every world. Someone hired to do a job rarely ever shows up on time, or within the time slot they offered, or shows up at all. I wonder why that is.

"Honestly, if they tell us that they are going to be here at one, then they should show up at one," the blonde woman said, scowling slightly as she looked around. "If you don't mind, I am just going to wait for them with you. Perhaps a few words will ensure that they will show up when they are supposed to next time."

"We don't mind at-" I began, but was cut off as I felt something shove me from behind.

I heard, rather than felt, the air whoosh out of me. Moments later I felt myself crashing to the ground, my knees and elbows scrapping along the rough surface as I skidded forward with such a force that I felt my eyes grow wider than they already were. I didn't even have time to blink before a blast of sound exploded behind me.

I stopped moving a moment later, and I lay there, unmoving, not wanting to see what I had broken in my fall, staring unseeingly at the wall across from me. All I could hear was this horrible ringing in my ears. The world could have been exploding around me, but all I heard was the ringing. I couldn't even feel anything, but I knew that if I moved that it would all suddenly start to hurt. So I didn't.

I don't know how long I stayed there, not moving a millimetre, staring blankly at the wall. I have a feeling it was a long time though, because when hands grabbed me and forced me to turn over I saw the face of our assistant manager, Howard. His office is on the other side of the building.

"Ginny, are you alright?" he asked, looking down on me with a worried expression.

I nodded my head weakly, then, suddenly realizing I wasn't breathing enough, I opened my mouth and gasped for breath. Air filled my lungs, which had begun to burn with lack of sufficient oxygen, though I hadn't realize it until Howard had turned me over. His hands on my shoulders gripped me tighter, and the worry on his face began to increase. I looked up at him, then past him, easily ignoring him for what I saw.

Shifting my weight slightly, I sat up, forcing the man to move back away from me. The worry on his face was deepening, but I had other things to look at. There was a beam resting about five feet away from me. A great big metal beam. It was just sitting there, as if that was where it was supposed to be. Merlin... one actually fell.

"Ginny?" Howard asked, worry in his voice. I turned my head slowly towards him, taking my eyes away from the great piece of metal that should have killed me, seeing as it was resting right where I had been standing. My head didn't seem to want to move properly though, as if the fall had severed a few important pathways from my head into my body. He was looking at me with concern now, a tinge of panic in his eyes. "I think you should lie back down."

He pushed at my shoulders but I refused to move, my hands coming up to catch at his wrists. I felt my eyes grow wider. There is blood all over my arms. There is blood running down the length of my arms! My eyes drifted over my body. And my legs. It's oozing out of the giant holes in my nylons. Put it back!

"No," I croaked, my eyes flying from my bloodied limbs to his face. "If I lie down I won't get back up." I shook my head. His eyes narrowed slightly and I could see confusion clouding his features, but it makes perfect sense to me. If I lie down I will have to close my eyes, and I will forget that I am bleeding. My body will forget to stop it and my blood will just continue to flow out of me until I have none left. You can't wake up if you don't have any blood.

"Where's the med team?" Howard suddenly barked over my head. I should turn to see who he is yelling at, but my blood has caught my interest again. There is dirt in it. Why wouldn't it come out with the rest of my blood? I watched as the red substance exited my body. Get back in! Don't leave me... I need you...

o-o-o

As soon as I told my assistant what had happened I Apparated away from work to the art gallery. The git didn't tell me what had happened, only that there had been an accident and that I needed to come tend to my mother as soon as possible. What a wonderful way to instil comfort in a person, and reassure them that there is nothing seriously wrong. But what if there is?

When I arrived, I was ushered to the area that they had begun expanding, and felt my eyes grow wide as they fell upon the large beam resting on the middle of the floor. By the amount of dust that was floating in the air I began to put together exactly what had happened. The bloody thing had fallen. Merlin I hope mother is not under it. Images of her blonde hair sticking out from under it suddenly ran rampant in my head.

I looked around frantically, trying to find any part of her anatomy protruding from under the mass of metal, but I didn't see anything. I know they wouldn't have called me as they had if she really did get squished, but sometimes my mind likes to overreact a little. Perhaps that is why I never got along with Potter, if my mind was always over exaggerating how much more recognition he got than me.

The woman who was leading me, turned to the right, and after a moment I realized my mother was not under the beam, but instead seated in a chair with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She was sitting there calmly, talking to the manager as if there was nothing wrong with her. As I got closer I could see a large bandage on her forehead.

"Mum," I said, coming up to her, looking for anything else that could be wrong with her. Missing limbs, that sort of thing, but I couldn't find anything amiss. Good. "Are you alright?"

"Draco," she said, a small smile gracing her lips as she turned her attention to me. "I am just fine dear. Just a little tired. If you wouldn't mind I would like for you to take me home"

I looked at her carefully, trying to see through her eyes if she was lying to me. Trying to cover up what she was really feeling as she always does. Now is the time to try and correct the problem, otherwise she will let it fester, as I mentioned before.

"Yes, of course," I replied, moving forward and offering her my arm. She stood up gracefully, as if she was standing from a table after tea, rather than a chair after a near death experience with a blanket wrapped around her person.

My eyes flickered around the room, as an after thought, as my mother grasped my arm. A flash of red caught my attention and I felt my eyes widen. Weasley was sitting on the other side of the table, her back to me, shoulders slouched, a medi wizard tending to her head. Both her arms and legs were wrapped up in bandages.

My mother tugged at my arm and I turned away. I nodded towards the old man, who nodded in return then turned and headed towards Weasley. I glanced around once more. Why is no one here to pick her up yet? Well, at least she will have her manager. I am sure one of her multiple brothers will be here. Or her boyfriend. Or perhaps they are all too incompetent to do so. Then what? Why do I care? We went over this already.

With a shake of my head I lead my mother out, resting my free arm on her hand. It might look like a kind gesture, but really, I am just trying to see if she is shaking. Which she isn't. I am beginning to think that there is something wrong. She is acting too indifferent. Isn't she? I can't really say. I have never really been around her directly after something like this happens. It's times like these that I really wish father was still alive. He would be able to read her. They were married for twenty years, after all.

With a wave of my wand I summoned a taxi, hoping that we could still get one at this time of day. A few seconds later a vehicle came screeching to a halt in front of us. It was purple, as are all the transit vehicles in this blasted country. I opened the door and helped my mother in, then went in myself.

"Malfoy Manor," I said to the driver, turning to look at my mother again. Perhaps if I look at her when she doesn't expect it I can catch her with her guard down and see what is wrong. No such luck though.

"Right," the driver replied, and the car leapt into motion, forcing my back to press into the seat as it accelerated.

"Are you sure you are alright, mother?" I asked her again, looking at her once more.

"You can stop looking at me like that, Draco," she said, irritation lacing her voice. I raised an eyebrow. "I am perfectly fine. I only stumbled into the table and bumped my head." With a graceful motion she gestured towards the bandage on her head. "It was the other two girls who got hurt. I don't know if that one will ever be the same again. All that muttering and moaning."

"You're not talking about Weasley, are you?" I asked before I could stop myself. What do I care if Weasley is suddenly more screwed up than she already is? If she becomes even more neurotic and verbally aggressive? For some reason I can't convince myself that I shouldn't care. But she hadn't looked as though she had been muttering anything...

My mother's eyes narrowed slightly. When she spoke she spoke carefully. "No, Weasley's daughter only had a few scratches on her. The other woman she was with was taken away to St. Mungos as soon as the medics saw her."

"Oh," was all I could manage, an unexplained feeling of relief flooding through me. Why am I feeling relief that Weasley is ok? What does it matter to me so much? It shouldn't, just like I shouldn't have walked her home. People might begin to think that I care about her safety, or worse, I myself might start thinking it.

"Oh indeed," she replied. I glanced at her to see her watching me, an odd light in her eyes. She blinked and it disappeared, replaced by their usual closedness. Perhaps I imagined it.

We sat in silence for the rest of the ride to the manor. My brain kept flashing images of Weasley sitting there, shoulders hunched, all alone. What could I have done? What would I have done if I didn't have to tend to mother? Gone over there and given her a hug and told her everything would be alright? I don't think so. I think I would have to be as insane as her to have done that. Yet it doesn't seem to be stopping the way my thoughts are running.

Once we arrived I helped my mother out of the taxi, then paid the driver for his service. He grinned at me, in a way that was not entirely polite, but I chose to ignore it. I have other matters to attend to. I held out my arm again and led my mother up to the house. One of the house elves greeted us at the door and took my cloak, squeaking that it would make some tea. I ignored it and lead my mother into the sitting room.

"This blanket is itchy," she said as she sat down on the couch I had led her to.

I silently nodded and headed towards the closet where I know there are a stash of blankets in the closet. Father used to like to sleep on this couch when he wasn't feeling well, or mother was in "a mood", as he would put it. No one seems to have ever removed his blankets after his death. I pulled one of them down.

"Achoo!" I sneezed, as the blanket fell open, sending dust into the air. "Achoo!" Another sneeze. They always come in sets of two.

"The house elves seem to be neglecting that closet," my mother said, disapproval in her voice. "I will talk to them about that." I nodded, rubbing at my nose in a way I know is not dignified and rather childish. What can I say though? My allergies seem to bring out my inner child. I held my breath and shook the blanket, watching the blasted dust launch into the air.

Four more sneezes and a runny nose later I brought the de-dusted blanket over to my mother.

"This one was your father's favourite," she said in a voice that could have held melancholy, or sadness, or even happiness, yet it seemed to only be an observational statement. I am beginning to think that there is really something wrong now. There is usually something in her voice when she mentions father these days.

"I know," I replied, taking the other blanket from her and wrapping the new one around her. I tossed the other onto a chair, then seated myself in an armchair beside her. The tea appeared on the table between us and I deftly poured her a cup. "Mother are-"

"Yes," she said interrupting me, her eyes flashing. "I have been through worse than this, Draco. It was just a bit of a shock, that's all. I will be just fine as soon as my ears stop ringing."

I nodded my head, sniffling slightly as I did so. This is where I stop pushing. If I say anything more she will just get angry at me. Maybe the ringing is all that is bothering her. Hopefully that is all it is. I know that annoying sounds irritate her to no end. Maybe that is all it is.

"Draco, just blow your nose," my mother said suddenly, looking pointedly at my offending facial feature. "You know how much your sniffling annoys me." See, she doesn't like annoying noises. I don't think my sniffling is annoying though, but then, I get to hear it all the time so perhaps I am immune.

"Sorry," I said, fishing through my pockets for a tissue. I found one and shook it out, using it to blow my nose. Nose now clear I jammed the thing back into my pocket and looked up to see my mother watching me again.

"How many people know about your allergies?" she asked me, taking me completely by surprise. What sort of question is that? It's not like I go around advertising it. It doesn't seem to be a very good opening line for anything, well, unless I want sympathy, but that's another issue all together. Maybe it's not simply the ringing after all.

"Not many," I admitted, frowning at her. "Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering," she replied, looking pensive. I frowned further. What would it matter to her how many people know about my allergies? It doesn't make any sense. "Did you hear that the Parkinson girl is engaged again?" she asked, changing the subject away from whatever it was that she was thinking about.

"Really?" I asked, raising an eyebrow and shoving her odd question to the back of my mind. Perhaps why she asked it will make sense later on, but there is no point in brooding about it now.

"Yes, and apparently the chances of her making it to the altar this time are far greater than ever before, or so I hear." My mother was smirking now, and I felt my own lips pulling themselves up into a similar expression.

You see, Pansy has been engaged seven times in the last four years, all of the engagements being broken off minutes before she was supposed to say her vows. I have this feeling that she simply likes the feeling of being attached to someone and not having to commit herself completely to them. Either that or she has the coldest feet in history. I don't which I would put my money on.

"Who is the sorry sod this time?" I asked, more out of innate curiosity than anything else. I really don't care all that much about what goes on in that woman's life. Never have, though she tried to make me care for far too many years.

"He's a Scot, I believe" mother responded, taking her tea up into her hands. The saucer didn't even rattle a little bit. "But I don't quite remember the name. I think it started with an F. He went to school with you, or so I'm told."

I thought for a moment. No, she couldn't be with that bloke, could she? But how many other gits match the description of being a Scot and having a name that begins with an F? Not to mention went to school with me. "You don't mean Finnigan, do you moth- mum?"

"That's the one," she said with a nod then taking a sip of her tea. "I hear he's supposed to be quite the handsome thing too."

"Yah, if you like six foot-five wall with a personality to boot," I muttered, leaning forward and pouring myself a cup of tea. Finnigan and I never really got along. Ever since I met him when we were four I just didn't like him. There was no real reason for my animosity, other than the fact that he threw a toy dragon at me. And that he attempted to defend Weasley from me back in school while he was attempting to court her. Stupid git.

"I am certain you could have that woman in an instant, Draco dear," my mother said sweetly, and I scowled at her. "I happen to know for a fact that she still has her eyes on you."

"Well she can just direct them somewhere else," I hissed, still scowling. "There is no way on earth that I will ever end up with that leech." She is a leech. Something I have first hand experience with back in Hogwarts, and I mean it in more ways than one, if you catch my meaning. I hope Finnigan has a big estate, for he is going to need it if he wants to keep that bint happy. On second though, I hope he doesn't so that she makes his life hell.

"Hmm, I am glad to hear that," she replied, her smirk falling slightly. "I do not think I could stand having that girl as a daughter in law."

I let out a snort of laughter, then took a sip of my tea. My mother doesn't usually express her dislike of someone unless she really dislikes them. Poor Pansy. I wonder what she ever did to achieve my mother's bad graces. Oh wait, I do know. We slipped into silence.

I watched my mother for a while, as she took sip or two of tea. She looked perfectly fine, just as if nothing had happened to her just an hour ago. There were no signs of strain around her eyes, her lips were as relaxed as they ever got, her posture was normal. Perhaps there really was nothing wrong with her as she claims. Perhaps I am just being paranoid. That I am overreacting. But then, she is the only parent I have left, and if I don't look out for her, who will? Either way, I suppose I will find out if there really is something wrong in due time. I'll just have to deal with that problem when I got to it.

"What would you like for your birthday, moth-mum?" I asked, the idea suddenly occurring to me, causing me to break our silence.

I have to ask early, though as to why I suddenly asked now is beyond me. She is the most impossible person to buy for because she has everything. And if she doesn't have everything she goes out and buys what ever it is that will allow her to have everything. And I don't think scribbling on a card with crayons and having father pick out something "sparkly" for her was going to work this time. I don't own crayons anymore. Oh, and father's dead. Do you see my dilemma?

"Surprise me with something beautiful," she replied with a small smile. I scowled at her once more.

"That was helpful," I said.

"I know," she replied sweetly. Sometimes I really think that she buys everything just so that she can make my life hell when her birthday and Christmas arrive.

o-o-o

Yesterday feels like it was so long ago, when in reality I have barely hit the twenty four hour mark. I have already been called by nearly everyone I know, wanting to know if I am ok, been visited by my mother who insisted that I do absolutely nothing today, and for the rest of the week (seeing as I have graciously been given it off), as well as been harped at by Zach for just lying about like a lump. Sometimes the way people contradict each other is rather amusing, and annoying at the same time, now that I think about it.

I have to keep my arms and legs wrapped up in loose bandages for the next day or two, to keep the sun, or anything else for that matter, from interfering with the healing process. I had to have most of my skin re-grown, seeing as the ground had scrapped most of it off. But hey, at least it got rid of that nasty bruise on my knee, and I am not going to have much if any scarring. Goody.

Due to these bandages people are overreacting a bit, in my opinion anyway. They take one look at them and burst into hysterics. I keep telling everyone that I am perfectly alright, that I just got the crap scared out of me by a falling piece of metal –a falling piece of metal that would have squished me if not for the safety charms designed to force things out of the way in just such an event. That the only thing really wrong with me is the fact that the bandages itch terribly; in reality though I am everything but alright.

I was nearly killed for the third time in my life, and this time the great Harry Potter didn't save me. I know that shouldn't bother me, but it does. I was saved by _magic_, cold, calculating, all encompassing magic, not by someone solid and real that I can thank and owe my life to. It was just magic. I know it sounds neurotic and ungrateful, but it is like I have no closure on the issue almost, no one to show my gratitude to. And it's not like I can thank magic, can I? It's not like it will respond back.

But that's not all that is wrong. I am sure I can find closure on this eventually, or just forget that I need it, but I think that beam jostled something dormant in my head, bringing it back to life. You know, when I went into that art school, walked through its double doors and looked about at the works of former students I remembering thinking that this is it, this is where it is going to happen. Where I will learn to become a painter worthy of having her art in textbooks and as prints in a few generations time. Not to mention have people want my paintings in the present as well, but there is an odd appeal of having people desiring your art in the future, a sort of immortality really. But yes, drifting off topic, but not really I suppose.

Look at me now though. I paint for the scant amount of people who commission me, barely making enough money to pay for food, let alone rent on the profits I make. So, I work in an art gallery, where I hunt for up and coming artists, encouraging their work and putting it up in the gallery. It never used to bother me, actually I found it quite fun as I found new friends and connections, but now it all seems different. Suddenly I realize I am making a great mistake, and all I can wonder is why am I wasting my time?

I should be the one people are hunting down, not the other way around. How am I ever going to be a famous painter, let alone a known of one, if I don't devote myself to painting? How do I ever expect to get anywhere, painting every now and then while I encourage others to become what I desire to become? I will tell you exactly what will happen, I will spend the rest of my life in that dead end job, gradually becoming bitter because I spent the best days of my life encouraging others to do what I always longed to do, what I can do, and did not take the time to actually do it.

It is for this reason that I am going to hand in my two week's notice first thing Monday morning. I have to get out of there. I have to take control of my life. I have to become that which I had forgotten I wanted to be. I have to become an artist, not a connoisseur of art. I have to get Luna to stop singing.

"Here comes Santa Clause, here comes Santa Clause, right down Santa Clause lane!" she sang happily from her spot on the couch behind me. I spun about in my stool to glare at her. Her duo tang, which held her notepad inside, was sitting open on her lap, and she was twirling her pen in her hands, flipping through a pile of notes.

"Luna, no, stop," I said, glaring down on her. The singing stopped and she looked up at me, blue eyes wide as usual. "It's not Christmas and I refuse to listen to those bloody songs before I have to."

"Fine," she said in a huff, continuing to flip through her notes.

Luna has a bad habit of doing that, singing Christmas songs for no other reason than they have drifted into her head. I don't really mind all that much, but she always manages to get them stuck in _my_ head, which I absolutely can't stand. I am going to have them in my head all December anyways, why should I have to deal with them now?

I suppose you are wondering why she is over here, after my whole ordeal. Well, Luna is always coming over, whether I like it sometimes or not. We usually just end up hanging out, her working on her articles for the _Quibbler_ and me on my paintings, or paperwork. She is really an awesome person to have around when you just feel like hanging out, and today she showed up with brownies and drinks to make me feel better. How could I refuse free chocolate? Or alcohol for that matter? And I couldn't very well have grabbed the food and closed the door in her face, so now she is over, not so silently sitting there.

I turned back around and looked down on my paint pallet and frowned. Suddenly it simply seems too small, too confined, too claustrophobic. I stood up, causing Luna to look at me, but I ignored her. Instead I took out my wand, waved it a few times until my glass pallet was five times the size. It teetered haphazardly on the little stool it was sitting on and I quickly reached out to stabilize it.

"_Accio_," I said, waving my wand again and summing another stool from under my work table, across my makeshift studio. It came and flew under my now larger pallet, balancing it out. I stepped back and looked at it. Well, it will just have to do for now before I can order an actual piece this big. My transfiguration spells never last that long. Probably why I never did too well in that class when I was in Hogwarts.

Luna was still looking at me and I shrugged, settling myself back onto my stool, and taking a sip of one of the drinks she had brought with her. "It was too small," I said, putting my pail of water on the pallet's surface, along with all my tubes of paint. I am liking this already. I usually have to stoop down to the ground when ever I need a new tube of paint, or need to wash out my brushes. Now it's big enough that I can put everything on top of the pallet and in easy reach. I then continued to mix my paint, suddenly realizing as well that I can now put a hell of a lot more colours on this size of pallet then ever before. I think I am going to be going through a lot more retardant medium than ever before...

"Stop humming," I said suddenly, as it occurred to me that the woman behind me was no longer singing, but still making noise.

"Not my fault that you're making so much noise with that pallet knife of yours that I can't concentrate," she replied, going right back to humming Christmas songs. I looked down on my hands to find huge piles of paint waiting to be used, my hands mixing it all up quickly. I forced them to stop.

"Why didn't you just say so before?" I asked, putting my knife down and getting up. I made my way over to my worktable, and began to rummage through the piles of clutter on top of it. I can't seem to ever get rid of clutter. And if I do, it just comes right back. I don't mind it though. Creates a safe environment. I finally found what I was looking for.

Holding up the remote, I pressed a couple buttons, bringing my Muggle Stereo to life. Bringing the remote with me, and grabbing my spray bottle as I went, I settled down on my stool once more, placing both objects on the pallet as well. I am really beginning to love the convenience of this...

"Pressure, pushing down on me, pressing down on you, no man ask for. Under pressure, that burns a building down, splits a family in two, puts people on streets," the voices of David Bowie and Freddie Mercury greeted our ears. I glanced at Luna to see her grinning at me.

I think music, classic rock music, rock and roll, is one of the reason the two of us get along so well. We both have a passion for it, a need to hear it, and I think it brings us closer. No one else we know really likes the older rock music, mainly because it is Muggle, and well, _old_. But I think that is what is the best part about it, it's original. A lot of the music today is just redone versions of the old stuff, and personally, I would much rather listen to the original, than to say Britney Spears turning a song about lack of sex into a love song.

I could hear Luna snapping her fingers behind me in tune with the music and my free hand found itself doing the same thing. My other hand continued to mix paint, and I watched idly as the acrylic paint splattered up on my wrapped up arms, staining the bandages with paint. I think it gives them a touch more character. Makes them less medical, so I didn't care all that much.

"It's the terror of knowing what this world is about, watching some good friends screaming Let me out'!" we both sang along, turning and laughing at each other at how high pitched we sounded on the last part. Luna is a much better singer than I am. I just like the feel of singing.

The song continued, and we were both silent again, listening as we worked to Freddy belting out the word "why" on the tops of his lungs, dragging the word out for so long. I think that is what the music of today lacks: enough people who can sing a strong cord like he could. It's all about the looks now, and very rarely about the voice. It's rather sad, now that I think about it, though I am not quite sure why I am thinking about this now. I should be thinking about painting.

"Love love love love," Luna and I both chanted, then burst out laughing.

"Ok, enough singing," Luna said with a laugh. I could see her foot tapping to the song as she said this. "I need to get this article done for Monday."

"Well then," I said with a grin, turning to look at her. "WRITE!"

This probably wasn't the best thing to have said for it sent us both into a fit of giggles. It's an old joke, you see, one that goes back to our last year in Hogwarts. Not going to go into it, but it always makes us laugh, if not giggle.

The door opened, causing us both to turn and look at it as Zach made his way into my apartment, looking, for all intents and purposes, as if he lived here. "And what are you all giggling about?" he asked, strolling in and closing the door behind himself.

"Don't you ever knock?" I demanded in response. He looked at me, his eyes travelling over me, lingering on my tank top. I glanced down at myself then scowled at him. "So I am covered in paint. Big deal," I hissed.

"I didn't say anything," he said, raising his arms up as if in self-defence.

"You were thinking it though," I said, my scowl deepening as he smirked at me. What is it with blonds finding it necessary to smirk at me? It just doesn't seem normal. I tried to shove the image of Malfoy's bloody smirk from my mind.

"So you can read minds now?" he asked with shock. "Luna dear, did you hear that? She can read minds! What ever will we do?"

"Run to the hills?" she offered without looking up from what she was scribbling at. "Or we could simply beat her with sticks. Pointy sticks." I directed my scowl at her, but its effectiveness was ruined by her not looking at me. I let out a sigh.

"What's that?" I asked Zach, as he moved to sit down on the couch beside Luna. He stopped mid-sit, and instead came towards me.

"You're famous," he said, holding up a section of the _Daily Prophet_, where there was a picture of me wrapped in a blanket. "Minister's Daughter Nearly Killed in Construction Accident!" the headline read in bold letters. I rolled my eyes. Like anyone cares.

"I didn't make the front page?" I asked with a fake sniffle, glaring at the picture. The woman in the image didn't look like me at all. Do I really look like that? I never realized my face looked so round. Or that my stomach was that large. It doesn't look like that when I look down on it. Not that I really care. I am comfortable with my body, and that's all that matters. Who cares what other people think of it. Wish I would have figured that one out when I was still in school.

"Actually, you made the third, you know, where they put the articles about pets killing their owners and crap like that," Zach said with a smirk, taking the paper out of my hands. "Speaking of pets, where is that blasted beast of yours? Shouldn't he be ripping apart my shoes by now?"

As if on cue, a bark from the balcony greeted our ears, and a moment later, Sneazel came bounding out of his igloo. His claws scrabbled on the wood of the balcony, trying to find purchase, then he scrambled through the doggie door I had charmed into the sliding glass door. He barrelled across the room, skidding to a halt, his claws scratching at the hardwood beneath his feet. It's a good thing I had the charm warden put an anti-scratching charm on the floor, or I would be spending a fortune in refinishing it.

"Achoo!" my overlarge husky dog said, sitting on the ground, and shaking his head. "Achoo!"

"Gesundheit," I said, watching as he shook his head one final time then looked up at the blond standing in front of him and began to growl. I rolled my eyes. I have known that dog for nearly six years now, and sometimes his routines are so predictable.

"Do you ever leave well enough alone?" I asked, watching as Sneazel's white barred teeth glinted in the light. I looked at Zach to see his face twisting with distaste. If he didn't have as much pride as he does, I swear to you he would be growling right back.

"Sneazel," I called, causing him to turn and look at me. "Come here." He moved towards me, his tail seeming to be indecisive as to whether it should be wagging with happiness or drooping in shame. So, it just did a bit of both. As soon as he reached me I grabbed his ears with both my hands and began to rub them. "Who's a good boy?"

Zach made a disgusted noise and crossed his arms. I smirked up at him then kissed at Sneazel's nose. I never actually kiss it. That would be gross. "Why don't you go see Lunapoo?" I asked him, pointing his head in the direction of Luna, who was now looking at my puppy with a look of anticipation. Luna loves dogs. I get to hear "Oh! Look at the puppy!" when ever she sees one, no matter what size the animal is.

Sneazel ambled his way over to Luna, and sat down, "assuming the position" as my dad likes to say. Luna's hand reached out her hand and began to stoke his head, and he leant into her. Zach made a disgusted noise and I turned and glared at him. Sometimes his dislike of Sneazel really gets on my nerves. Today is apparently one of those days. I took another sip from my drink.

"Yes, I am going to rip off your ears," Luna's cooing voice drifted through the air. "And rip off your tail, and stomp on your paws." I let out a laugh and looked at her to see her rubbing Sneazel behind the ears, just as he loves to be rubbed. She was gently twisting them, and pressing her socked foot into his paws, rubbing that part of him as well. Luna always says such horrible things to him, but it is in one of those voices that all dogs like to hear. The voice you use to praise them when you do something good, so he didn't pick up on her sadistic words, and if he did, he didn't believe her. Apparently it is a tradition in her family to do this. Sometimes I wonder...

"So what is this that you are painting?" Zach asked from my right, and I jumped in surprise. When did he move to stand right behind me? "It looks different from what you usually paint."

"Huh?" I asked, turning my stool to look at the painting as well. I frowned. I hadn't actually looked at it since I began to mix up more paint for it. It does look a touch more colourful than usual, even though I am using a dead pallet. There seems to be an undertone of something sinister in it though; I shuddered slightly. I didn't even realize I had painted it like this. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" he asked flatly. "Well that's new. Usually you talk my ear off with your long detailed description, describing to me every single brushstroke and idea that went through your head as you painted it."

"I do not," I said, whacking him with my paintbrush, causing paint to mar the skin of his arm. He frowned down on it, but didn't say anything. He usually ends up getting paint on him when I am painting. "I only tell you what I need to so that you can understand it."

"Of course you do," he said in a slightly condescending tone. I glared at him. "Don't look at me like that, little girl. You know what I am saying is perfectly true."

"Little girl?" I demanded. "I am no 'little girl'. I am a twenty seven year old woman, as you know perfectly well." I continued to glare at him as he looked me over for the second time today. Sometimes I wonder how gay he really is. Not that there is much question about it really, but every now and then things just seem a little odd. Maybe it's true that there is a little heterosexual in every homosexual, just as there is a little homosexual in every heterosexual.

"Woman?" he asked, his eyes coming back to mine, alight with mischief. "You don't dress like a woman; you dress like a little kid who got into a box of crafts. Look at you, covered in paint." Then he smirked at me and I knew that what he was going to say next I wouldn't like at all. "And you are flat like a little girl as well."

I let out a gasp of disbelief and looked at him with wide eyes. Well, he has never thrown that one at me after all these years. I looked down on my chest. Ok, I admit that I am not the most well endowed woman in the world, far from actually. But that is what bras are for, right? I glared at him once more as he began to laugh.

"Ooh, you're such an ass, Smith," I hissed, changing my grip on my paintbrush so that I could stab him with it. I got up off my chair and moved quickly towards him, hoping to catch him unawares when he was laughing.

"Hey," he said, catching my wrist and twisting it around, forcing me to move with it. "How many times have I told you that it's not nice to paint on people?"

"Ow!" I said in response, bent over near double, looking up at him. "Ow! Zach! Let go!"

"No," he said, reaching out with his other hand and taking my paintbrush from my hand. He twisted a bit harder and I yelped. I don't know why I bother yelping anymore, well, because it hurts, but still, this is not the first time he has done this to me. Zach knows self-defence you see. And he uses it. Especially when I try to attack him. "Not until you play nice."

"Luna!" I said desperately, my other hand now swatting backwards at Zach. It didn't do a thing but aggravate the odd position of my other arm, causing the bandages to chafe against my skin.

"Shh," she hissed at me, raising her finger to her lips. "I am petting the puppy. Isn't that right Mister?" she asked Sneazel, who just sat there in front of her, tail wagging, an expression across his face as though he was in heaven.

"Traitors," I said bitterly. Well, both my best friend and my pet were just sitting there, letting my bestest friend twist my arm off, after all. How could I not consider them traitors at that point?

There was a knock at the door and my eyes flew towards it, along with everyone else's in the room. It was my opportunity to escape Zach's clutches. Zach looked towards the door as well, but he didn't let go of my arm. I gave it a tug. Still nothing.

"Let go you prat," I hissed, glaring up at him. Who ever was at the door knocked again. "I have to answer the door." He scowled down on me, but let go of my arm all the same. I twisted back upright and rubbed at my shoulder, then readjusted my bandages. "Bloody git," I muttered, moving towards the door.

"I heard that," he called. I turned and glared at him as I twisted the doorknob and pulled the door open.

"Good!" I called back, turning towards the now open door. I froze.

"Good afternoon Weasley," Malfoy drawled, his lips twisting into that bloody smirk.

o-o-o

**Works Cited:**

o- "I would much rather listen to the original, than to say Britney Spears turning a song about lack of sex into a love song" – Ginny is of course referring to atrocious remake Spears did of the Rolling Stone's _Satisfaction_. It's a song about lack if sex and she makes it into a love ballad. The woman should be shot for her heresy.

o- "Actually, you made the third, you know, where they put the articles about pets killing their owners and crap like that" – Actually, the third page of one of our city's paper did tell us about a puppy somehow shooting his owner, who was trying to shoot the puppy. It was odd and should not have been put on the third page when there are more important things to worry about, like Bush being re-elected.

o- Luna's odd method of petting Sneazel is actually Lallie's odd method of petting her own dog, not to mention my own puppies. It really is a tradition in her family, stemming from her mother's side.

o-o-o

A/N: Well, there you go. I am still not very happy with the last scene with Draco and Narcissa, but it just seems to be getting worse every time I try to fix it, so perhaps leaving it as-is is the best thing to do. I am much happier with Ginny's last scene though. Much much happier. Yay! I even got David Bowie into it. Huzzah. So, please tell me what you thought!


	4. Hide in Your Shell

Title: Painting an Oyster

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one legged lesbian seagull hotmail com (Please add 3 underscores, one "at" sign, and a period)

A/N: Well, here is chapter four. It's still pretty much the same as the first version, but I updated their thoughts and actions. I also changed the ending, so if you are thinking chapter 5 will still make sense if you don't reread this one then you are in for a nasty surprise. Oh well. Enough blather from me. For now at least.

Disclaimer: I only claim Sneazel and my lack of plot. Other than that it all belongs to JK and other lovelies.

**Painting an Oyster**

**Chapter 4**

**Hide in Your Shell**

o-o-o

Soundtrack: "Hide in Your Shell" by Supertramp

o-o-o

I couldn't help but smirk at the look of surprise etched across Weasley's face. It was almost too priceless not to. Who would have thought that if I just simply stood at her door I could evoke something other than anger out of her? But then really, I think I would be in a similar state if she was on my doorstep, though I don't think that I would be showing it off quite so blatantly.

She blinked a few times, her already red cheeks turning redder, though if it was from anger or embarrassment was beyond me. I suppose I will find out as soon as she opens her mouth though. She glanced behind into her flat, then back at me, the surprise all but gone and replaced with irritation, her cheeks still red.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she demanded finally.

"One surprise visit and the manners go flying out the window, do they?" I drawled, looking past her out the surprisingly large window on the other side of her flat. There was dark smoke billowing from a source that I couldn't see from this position. Interesting that she would have a flat facing such a thing, though not entirely surprising I suppose taking her sanity into account, or lack there of rather. But then, it is probably all she can afford.

"Exactly, now what do you want?" she snapped, frowning up at me. She really is getting a touch more nasty than usual. Interesting. I frowned down on her, leaning forward slightly.

"I want you," I said slowly, looking at her from head to toe, taking in her appearance. She was dressed in a pair of jeans that were covered in paint of all colours, and a tank top that was similarly coloured. My eyes lingered on her arms, which were still wrapped in bandages from yesterday's incident. They had paint on them as well. My eyes finally rested on her widening eyes, "to paint a portrait for me."

Her eyes instantly flew back into a frown and began to scowl at me. I couldn't help but let out a bark of laughter. I don't know why I said it like that, but if this is the way she reacts to those sorts of innuendos, I just might have to make a few more. At least that way she has a reason to act as though I am the devil incarnate.

"You want me to paint you?" she asked, the surprise back on her face. I glanced up once more, my eyes lingering on how the light catches in her hair, bringing out small streaks of gold. I wonder if it is as soft as it looks. I did not just wonder that.

"I said _for_ me, Weasley. Not _of_ me," I corrected her, smirking as the surprise slipped away again to reveal annoyance. This is just too fun. Though as to why I find it fun is beyond me. To be honest though, I think I have always found some sort of enjoyment in tormenting her. She overreacts far too easily. At least now she has a reason to do it though, not like the first time a few weeks ago. I still don't understand that incident, or its repercussions for that matter. Perhaps I should be glad about that though...

"Why?" she asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. Why didn't she look at me suspiciously before? I mean, I would be looking at her with suspicion rather than surprise if she had told me what I had just told her. Well, I would think that she was off her rocker if she asked me that, seeing as I do not paint, but still you get my drift. Odd woman.

"Because I want a present for my mother's birthday," I replied, looking past her into her flat once more. It was then that I noticed that there were two other people in the room, watching us carefully. I scowled at them and turned my attention back to the red head blocking my way into the flat.

"You want me to paint a picture for your mother?" she asked, her eyes still narrowed, but one eyebrow was slowly going up. Is it that hard to believe that I want to hire her to paint me a picture? I mean sure, she hates me, and I am not all that fond of her, regardless of the fact that I can't get her off my mind, but still, I can be professional. And I am certain she needs the money.

"No, I actually want you to paint a picture of her," I amended her, my eyes following a smudge of paint that traveled along her cheek bone into her hair. For some reason I had an urge to try and rub it off, keep it from marring her cheeks. "And I hear you are the one to come to."

Well, that was true. I had gone from painter to painter all morning, and all of them told me that they needed to have my mother present for them to paint. The fourth one, a Mr. Thomas, told me that Weasley here could do it with a photograph. I was a little sceptical at first, I mean, she's Weasley. How do I know that she won't sabotage it or something? But after a few more painters where I got the same response, I realized that Weasley was becoming my only option. And really, it was stupid of me to think that she would do anything so childish. She is rather daft, ok, she if daft, no rather about it, but no one is that stupid, are they? Don't answer that.

"Oh," was all she said to that, as she stepped back, allowing me to enter her flat. I walked in, slightly wary of the two other people in the room. It was Weasley's boyfriend and, well what do you know, Loony Lovegood. Why does it not surprise me that these two are friends?

"Come Luna dear," her blond man said, standing up and gesturing towards the woman on the couch. "Let's leave Ginny to her work."

"What a grand idea, Zach," the blonde woman replied, standing up and gathering a pile of papers towards her person. I watched as the two of them disappeared into what I assumed was the kitchen. I glanced back at Weasley, who was now scowling after the two people who left the room.

"I hope you're not scared of dogs," Weasley said to me, closing the door behind me. I glanced over at her with a confused frown. Dogs? Why would my being scared of dogs –which I am not– be relevant to her? A wet sensation on my hand made my head snap down to look at it.

Two different coloured eyes, brown and blue, stared up at me, surrounded by a very large amount of fur. I put two and two together and realized that this was Weasley's dog, the one who had needed food. I had completely forgotten about it. The beast is huge, though if it is due to all its hair or if it is fat is beyond me. I am leaning towards the latter option though, because she did get the biggest bag of food that there had been.

I waved my hand at it, but it didn't go away. It just sat there, staring up at me as if it was expecting something. I wanted to tell it that I didn't have any food and that it could just stop it right now, but I didn't want to be caught talking to a dog. And it's not like the bloody thing would understand me anyway.

"If you pet him he will leave you alone," she told me, walking across the room to where an easel was set up in front of the window. It looked as though she had just begun on the painting for most of the canvas was still white, though the parts that had been painted on looked like a jumble of colour. Perhaps I had been right to doubt this being a good idea.

I glanced around the room, taking in the white walls, and rather decrepit looking couch. Some sort of Muggle contraption was spouting out music beside the fireplace, music I did not recognise since I do not listen to Muggle music. The hardwood floor beneath my feet was scratched, most likely from the beast still staring up at me. All in all it wasn't the type of place you would expect the daughter of the Minister for Magic to live in. It was, however, the sort of place I would expect her to live in.

"Would it kill you to just give him a pat?" she demanded of me, now standing before a work table that was covered in everything artsy. I looked down on the beast once more. It was still staring up at me. It sniffed at my pants, and my eyes widened as I watched hair leap from its over furry body and onto them. I scowled down on it. "He won't leave you alone until you do."

"Fine," I snapped, dropping my hand onto the creature's head, expecting to feel greasy hair underneath my finger tips.

The experience was far from unpleasant though, I noticed with some dismay. The hair was soft, and rather comforting to the touch, completely different from petting a cat or an owl, since there was more to dig your fingers into. Perhaps I can understand why she would own this sort of familiar rather than the usual kind. Why am I trying to understand why Weasley does what she does? Surly I will go insane if I actually manage it.

"See, it wasn't so bad, was it?" she asked me, patronization thick in her voice. I scowled over at her, my hand still petting the creatures head. No, it wasn't that bad. Now if only I could get my hand to stop petting it.

"Achoo!" the creature said, something wet flying onto my hand. "Achoo!"

"Gesundheit," Weasley said calmly, as though her dog sneezed on a regular basis. I looked down in horror to see my hand covered in dog sneeze. I then glared at Weasley. My lip curling, I whipped my hand on the creature's fur then stepped away from it, my pants collecting half of his fur as I went. Gross.

"A dog that sneezes?" I asked, stopping before the beginnings of the painting I had seen before. There was a sheet of glass sitting beside it, covered in wet paint. I wonder how she keeps it from drying out. "Why does that not surprise me?"

"I don't know, why doesn't it?" she asked me, shuffling through the piles of junk on the table before her. I glared at her, looking around once more.

Against the wall, near the window, where several rows of stacked paintings, and I made my way towards them. Well, I might as well look at what she has done before I pay her to paint me something. Reaching the first pile I looked down on the painting in front, then pulled it towards myself and looked at the one behind that, continuing on until I got the end of the row.

I have to admit that the woman is good. She has a verity of different subjects in her paintings, though I think her people are the most stunning. There just seems to be something about them all, like she captured a piece of their soul and put it onto the canvas, to be shown to the world for all eternity. Or not, if they stayed up against this wall forever. There was a selection of wizarding and Muggle pieces, some of the people or plants moving about, while others stood still. I wonder why she chose to make this one move and this one not. I didn't bother to ask.

I moved over to the next row and continued to go through the work, becoming more and more impressed as I went. I hate to admit it, but I am impressed. What is it with me lately? It shouldn't matter what the woman looks like or what she produces, I shouldn't like any of it because she is a Weasley. Just as I should not enjoy walking her home. Or be thinking of her more than is necessary. Wait. What the?

"What the hell is this, Weasley?" I asked her, reaching out and pulling a canvas from the back of the pile out. I turned and looked at her, to see her eyes wide with fear? Or was it embarrassment? Her face was turning blotchy.

I looked back down on the canvas, eyebrows knotting together. It was me staring back at me, my hair glinting in the moonlight. I could barely see the rest of my body, it was lost in the darkness of the background. My hair was so bright, and my eyes– I shuddered. There was just something wrong with the eyes. And it was a Muggle painting. What could she mean by that?

"Uh, nothing," she said, coming up beside me and snatching the painting from my hands. I looked at her, watching as her face went even redder. "It was something I woke up to."

"You woke up to?" I asked, trying to get a glimpse of the image again, but she had it facing her, holding it up as though to protect herself from me. I watched as her eyes darted from the painting, to me, then back to the painting. She then let out a hiss and stood it up in front of the first pile of paintings, turning away from it and looking at me straight in the eye.

"Yes, I woke up to it," she said evenly, not looking away. The sun was glinting off her hair again, seeping into her eyes, making them look as though they were sparkling. I resisted the urge to shake my head to clear my mind of the sight. "I have a habit of doing that."

"Oh," was all I could come up with. Well, what would you say if someone painted a picture of you without realizing it? It was rather creepy, not to mention unsettling. "Are there any more of these," I gestured towards the painting, "that I should know about?"

"No," she replied with as much dignity as one can in such a situation. She looked away from me and headed towards the cluttered table once more, flicking on a lamp that was bolted to the corner. "Now what is it that you want exactly?"

I glanced down at the painting once more, suppressing a shiver that tried to break free off my spine. I looked instead at her, watching as she began to fill out a form in the only free space on the table. "A portrait of my mother which is about four feet in height and framed." I paused. "Nothing too dark, and I absolutely do not want her to be scowling."

That is the whole reason why I am putting myself through all of this. I noticed on my way out of the Manor yesterday, that all the portraits of past family members were scowling at me. Even the one of my mother scowled. It just struck me as wrong. Mother doesn't scowl near as much as she used to, and as she said that she wanted to be surprised with something beautiful I figured I would get a portrait done of her that looks as she does now. Without the scowl. Now that I explain it, it doesn't sound like such a good idea anymore.

"Alright," she said, nodding her head as she continued to write. "Do you have a picture, or would you like her to sit for me?"

"I have a photograph," I told her, taking out my wallet and pulling out the image of my mother. I handed it to her and she stared at me.

"You have your mother's picture in your wallet?" she asked, the smirk spreading ever so slightly. "That's so cute Malfoy."

"Shut up," I scowled. So what if I have my mother's picture in my wallet. _I_ don't think it is cute. Not in the slightest.

She laughed at me, taking the picture from my hand. She looked down on it, then smiled rather than smirked. "This will do just fine after I use an enlargement charm or two." She nodded to herself and placed the image down on top of a pile of books. She then turned back to the piece of paper she was writing on.

"Woof," her beast said, getting up from where it was sitting on the floor and walking over to Weasley. It put its head on her lap and sneezed. She dropped her left hand down on her head and began to pet it as it sneezed again.

"Poor Sneazel," she cooed at it, scratching behind the beast's ears.

"Sneazel?" I asked, looking at the creature, who was twisting its head as though to let the woman get at the spot it wanted scratched. "What kind of name is that for a dog?"

"It's the kind of name for a dog who sneezes too much," she replied as if it made all the sense in the world. I raised an eyebrow at that. A dog that sneezes too much so she names it Sneazel? What's next? She finds out about my allergies and begins to call me Sneezy? Merlin forbid.

I didn't respond to what she said, and we slipped back into silence. I could hear talking from the other room, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. I had actually forgotten that the two of them were still here. Oh well.

"You do realize that this painting will be covered in Weasley coodies, right?" she asked suddenly, breaking the silence. I looked over at her to see mischief glinting in her eyes. I frowned at her.

"I am sure the house elves will be able to get the stench out," I replied, putting my hands in my pockets. "All you have to worry about is not screwing it up."

"Such helpful words," she replied, the glint still in her eyes. She leant closer to paper as she wrote on it, exposing the top of her chest to me. I couldn't help it, I stared. Well, you would too if you were in my position. A position which, might I add, is really all the result of her and her way of lodging herself in my mind. And it wasn't as if she wasn't asking for it; she knows I am standing here. A few seconds later I realized what I was doing and shook my head. No, I am not that desperate. I glanced back. Ok, maybe I am. "Are you sure you don't want to do the painting for me as well? Mix my paints? Change my water?"

"Now where would the fun in that be?" I asked, watching as she pulled away from the paper, taking my view with her. I mentally sighed. Well, there goes my entertainment for the day. I have just officially sunk to a new level of pathetic.

There was a snort at my feet and I looked down to find the beast had moved from Weasley and back to me. As soon as it realized that it had got my attention it began to lick my pants, leaning into my legs.

"Stop that," I told it, brushing its snout away. It looked up at me with those different coloured eyes again.

With another mental sigh I began to pet it once more, scratching behind its ears as I had seen Weasley do. It seemed to like that for it began to lean into me more, angling its head. Soon my other hand dropped to its head as well and began to scratch at its other ear. Its tongue lolled out, and I assumed that whatever I was doing was a good thing.

A throat cleared in front of me and I looked up to see Weasley's boyfriend and Lovegood standing in the doorway, smirking at me. I straightened myself out, dropping my hands from the beast's head. Lovegood patted her leg and the creature bounded towards her. I watched as the man glared at the creature as it went by him. Odd.

He walked forward, leaving the woman to pet the beast. Actually, it looked more as if she was trying to rip its ears off, but the tongue was lolling so I assumed it couldn't have been that painful. Unless it was a masochist, but I don't even want to consider the implications of that.

"I have to start getting ready now, Gin," I heard him tell the red haired woman, and I turned to see him looking over the woman's shoulder, hands on her hips. I scowled as a pang of jealously shot through me. I think I was scowling more at myself than at the two of them. Why should I feel jealous that he has Weasley? I certainly don't want her. I just can't get her out of my head, is all.

She turned and looked over her shoulder in confusion. He rolled his eyes slightly. "My date?" he asked, raising his eyebrows as though they would help her understand. I felt a pang of something in my chest. No, it was not relief. I refuse to believe that it was relief. "The one at eight?" Still no response. "I told you about it yesterday."

"Of course I don't remember then," she replied, looking back at the paper and writing one more thing before putting her quill down. She gestured towards her arms, which were wrapped in cloth.

"Right, how silly of me," he replied, releasing her hips and stepping back. She grinned at him, and whacked at his arm.

"I'll show up before you leave," she told him, then turned her eyes towards the woman across the room, who had the dog on its back and was scratching away. "Are you going too, Luna?"

I watched as she nodded, an odd satisfied smirk on her face. "As soon as I finish petting the puppy, right?" she asked of him. I turned away before I began to smirk, and looked at Weasley instead. The sun was catching in her hair again and I turned away after a moment only to find the man who was not Weasley's boyfriend staring at me. As I stared back he began to frown and I frowned in turn.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, though as to what it could have been was beyond me, then closed it again. Apparently whatever it had been hadn't been that important. Either that or it would have made Weasley mad. If it was possible that she could get mad at her not-boyfriend. Probably is. He then shrugged, looking away and embraced the woman in a hug.

"Woof!" the dog said, the sound of scratching hardwood greeting my ears as it scrambled to its feet, and barrelled towards the couple. There was the sound of snapping jaws, and I felt my eyes widen as the man recoiled, taking a hasty step back. Weasley whacked the dog on the nose.

"Sneazel," she said angrily, glaring down on him. "He wasn't doing anything wrong!" The dog looked up at her insolently, then turned and seemed to glare up at the man. If it is possible for a dog to glare. Now why would he attack Weasley's not-boyfriend? Simply because he gave her a hug? Interesting. I wonder if he would do the same to me. Not that I am going to be testing that theory. Ever.

"Stupid dog," he sneered, then walked away from it towards the door. "I'll see you later, Gin, Luna." Then he glared at me, as though he was trying to convey something to me. I knew all too well what it was, but it is not like I would ever touch her anyway. "Malfoy," he said darkly then went out the door.

Lovegood gathered her things once more then headed towards the door again. She grinned at Weasley, who was still scowling down at the dog at her feet. She then glanced at me, grinning even wider. "I'll see you tomorrow Gin," she said, her grin spreading still wider. "Do I need to bring double the amount of brownies with me?"

I glanced at Weasley to see her turning red again, then glared at the bint as she made her way towards the door, the grin still in place on her lips. I scowled.

"No thank you," the red head replied sweetly. I glanced at her to see her seeming to fight between a scowl and a smile. "That certainly won't be necessary." Then she grinned further. "You should save your ingredients for the mystery man you are seeing."

I watched as the blonde's eyes widened to am alarming size, and that is saying something considering the size that they usually are. "What mystery guy?" she asked, her face going pink. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"Of course you don't," the red head replied, a smirk breaking out across her face. A smirk that was all too wrong if you ask me. Weasleys smirking? What's next? Why do I keep asking that? The next thing keeps rearing its ugly head and it is never pleasant. "I'll see you tomorrow." With that she turned away, dismissing her friend. I watched as the woman went to the door, waving at the dog before she made her exit. I stared at the closed door for a moment. And I thought she had been bad back in Hogwarts...

"Sorry about that," Weasley said from behind me, and I turned to find her staring at me, a smile still on her lips. Her face was still red, and for some reason it didn't disgust me quite as much as it had before. Actually, it was rather amusing. "They just like to meddle in things."

I raised my eyebrow in response, my eyes travelling downward to the dog. It had gotten up and was shuffling its way towards another door, which I realized as it pushed it open, was Weasley's bedroom. Little wires in my brain began to connect with each other, causing ideas, wrong ideas, to suddenly run through my head. I shook it to make them stop.

When I turned back to her she was holding up the piece of paper that she had been writing on, a slight frown marring her face. She glanced past me to the door I had been looking at, her frown deepening. "Here, I just need you to sign this and then you can get out of my flat. And then I can begin to forget that you were ever here to begin with." I think she can read minds. Shit. Now she's all back to being Weasley-like again. Funny how I didn't really realize she had stopped until she started up again.

I nodded my head and took the paper from her. She moved away, leaving the only free space on the table open. I stared down on the page, but all the words blurred together. I scowled. Sometimes I really hate being farsighted. With a mental sigh I fished out my glasses and slipped them on. Much better.

It was the usual sort of contract, claiming that I had to pay a service fee up front and that the rest of the fee was expected on completion of the painting. I can have her stop at any point, but I will not get that money back if I do so. With a shrug I signed it.

I looked up to see her shifting through piles of books and paper, which I noticed had drawings and scribbles all over them. My nose began to twitch and I looked instead at the air around the books she was shifting through. Dust was flooding the air. No wonder that poor beast is always sneezing, it seems as though the woman never dusts.

"Achoo!" I sneezed before I could stop myself. I felt my eyes grow wide and I began to search for a tissue in one of my pockets. "Achoo!"

"Gesundheit," Weasley replied, looking at me with an odd expression on her face as I wiped at my nose quickly. I jammed the tissue into my pocket then removed my glasses and put them into my pocket as well. I scowled at her.

"Well, this is signed," I said, reaching into my pocket once more and pulling out some galleons and a business card. I put then down on top of the sheet. "I would like the painting delivered to my flat when you are done."

She nodded at me, the odd look on her face slipping into a pensive one. I had the sudden urge to get away from her, to somehow regain the dignity I had lost in sneezing. I know the Cheating Bitch hated it when I sneezed, almost as though she thought it was un-masculine or something. For some reason I couldn't stand to wait around long enough to see the same disgust mirrored on Weasley's face.

Without another glance at her I made my way out of her flat, closing the door behind me.

o-o-o

I stood there, staring at the door Malfoy had just left through, suddenly feeling very alone. I glanced around my flat, noticing how the brownies Luna had given me were still sitting on the coffee table, the plastic wrap peeling away at the corners. I went forward and took one up, biting into it. I love chocolate. If only I could have a relationship with it I think I would be the happiest woman in the world. Alas it wouldn't workout though. And I would double in size.

I turned and walked back to my work table, looking down on the form Malfoy had signed. I picked it up and removed the back page, the copy that he was supposed to have taken. Oh well, I suppose I will just have to owl it to him tomorrow if I go out. I suppose I could jack Zach's owl, but he always gets mad at me when I do that.

I took Malfoy's business card and glanced down on the address. It was a rather simple number to remember: Suite 10. Of course a person like him would live in a suite, and not just some plain old flat. I glanced down at the rest of it; he actually doesn't live that far from here. Not that I really care. He could live right next door and I still wouldn't care. Actually, I would because then I would have to see his stupid face more often than I already do. And have to listen to him sneeze.

I still can't believe that he sneezed. I know it is a natural thing to do, but I never really thought Malfoy was all that natural. For him to sneeze is just bizarre. It's like going into a familiar building only to discover that there is a floor that you never knew was there. I never saw him sneeze back in school, actually, I never saw him act in any way that was really human. Well, human in the normal, I sneeze and cough and sniffle sort of way.

And he wears glasses when he reads. Now that I still can't get my mind around. Since when does the almighty Draco Malfoy wear glasses? And use them? And look so hot in them? I think I need to stop thinking about this.

What is wrong with me? Here I am worrying about what Malfoy looks like in glasses and what he sounds like when he sneezes, when the man just bloody well hired me to paint a portrait of his mother! Shouldn't this be taking precedent in my mind? That Mister Draco Malfoy deemed me worthy enough to paint for him, let alone pay me for the services? That I am technically working for Malfoy until I get the painting to him? Why is this not factoring in! I must really be going insane. That's the only explanation for it.

I let out a sigh. At least he didn't overreact too badly when he saw the image I had woken up to. I had been a mite worried when he saw it. Ok, mite is a bit of an understatement. My heart stopped when I saw him looking at it. I thought he was going to explode, but he didn't. If anything he just looked disturbed. I glanced down on the painting. Actually, now that I look at it, it does seem a little more sinister than it had looked before. I still can't believe how much it looks like him though... Oh well. I guess drunken states just bring out the best of my abilities.

With a shrug and a roll of my shoulders I stepped away and glanced at my paints. They had all dried up, seeing as I had neglected to spray them down before this whole event had started. I turned my eyes to the painting. It really is different from my usual stuff. More abstract, more surreal, like a new part of me, a new world, is trying to break free. I wonder what will happen to it as it progresses. I wonder why this part of me has never broken free before.

"What an odd couple of days," I muttered to myself, turning away from the painting and my dried paint. I made my way into my bedroom, pulling my top off as I went. I had seen the look on Malfoy's face when he had watched Sneazel go in here. And I didn't like it. Is the man really that desperate? Why does that thought not offend me as much as it should?

Sneazel was lying in his dog bed at the foot of my bed when I walked in, watching me without lifting his head. I think the oddest part about this whole afternoon was how well Sneazel took to Malfoy. I mean, he hates Zach, as you saw when he tried to bite him for hugging me, but he didn't so much as sniff at Malfoy in distaste. He just went up to him demanding pets as if they were old buddies. I shuddered at the thought. No, my dog will never be buddy buddy with that scum.

I pulled open my wardrobe, riffling through it for a fresh change of clothes. I tossed my dirty shirt onto the chair in the corner then worked at the clasp on my pants. They went to the chair as well. Then I stood there, looking at all of my clothes hanging there. I had to expand the interior of this thing a while ago otherwise there would have been no way to fit half of my clothes in here.

I riffled through a few skirts, then finally pulled out one of my favourite dresses. It's over worn, but I love it. So I pulled it on over my head, then grabbed a pair of jeans and put them on underneath. I know that it is no longer in fashion, but it is simply too chilly out to be walking around in a dress that falls this high above the knees.

I walked over to my mirror then and shook my head at the paint that was smeared and splattered all over me. I didn't think I had been that overzealous, but apparently I had been. With several waves of my wand I got rid of as much of the paint as I could –I can never get the paint out from under my nails– then I took up my brush and took out the tangles in my hair.

I paused, looking at the bandages wrapped around my arms. They were coming loose. Putting my brush down I waved my wand a few more times, causing them to tighten once more. It's a good thing that I only have to wear them for a few more days, otherwise I think I would go insane.

"What do you think?" I asked my puppy, who was still looking at me with boredom, turning to face him. "That bad eh?" I asked, then stooped and gave him a pat or two. I don't even know why I bothered making myself look presentable. It's not like I am going anywhere. All I am doing is going over to Zach's place to inspect how he looks before he heads off on his date. It's a little thing we always do for each other: inspect the other's wardrobe to make sure each of us looks divine before a date. Zach's much better at it than I am. My colour pallets are all messed up when it comes to clothing. Sure, I can pick the perfect colours for a grand composition, but when it comes to matching the right colour top with the right colour bottom I'm useless.

I headed out of my room and into the kitchen. I grabbed an apple from the bowl and bit into it as I got a glass and filled it with juice. I try to keep junk food out of my house, that way I can't eat it and can't get too unhealthy. I don't do a great deal of exercise, as I would much rather paint, so if all I eat is junk I am going to run into problems. I do walk Sneazel everyday though. Or at least, I try to.

Gulping down the juice and putting the glass in the sink I headed over to the door, and glanced into my bedroom again. "I'll see you in a bit, Sneazel!" I called, grabbing my keys and wand. I have locked myself out one too many times to not take both items with me.

It took me all of three seconds to make my way over to Zach's door and knock. I waited a moment then it opened, revealing Zach dressed impeccably as usual. I felt my mouth drop open slightly. Sometimes I really wish he wasn't gay. He's just too pretty to be gay. Why is it that all the pretty boys are gay? Or taken? Well, Malfoy isn't gay, or taken, as far as I know. I am not thinking about that.

"Yah, I thought I looked good," Zach said, a smirk playing across his face as he held the door open and ushered me in. He then took my apple from me and took a bite from it before handing it back.

I scowled at him as he ate what he had taken. "Actually, I was stunned at how bad you look," I replied, looking down on my apple, which was suddenly a lot smaller. "'You have too big of a mouth." I held up my apple as if to explain the statement.

"Well, why else do you think-"

"Stop," I said, holding up my apple free hand. "I just ate." He whacked at my shoulder and smirked at me. I couldn't help but smirk back.

I then took a step forward and adjusted the collar of his shirt, which was looking a little crooked. It always drives me insane when men's collars look odd. I am not really sure why, but I am sure it has something to do with having six brothers. All of them are used to me adjusting their clothes.

"So don't stay out too late," I said, watching as Zach got his jacket from the coat rack. "And if you do anything naughty, use protection." He shot me a grin.

"Yes mother, of course mother," he said in a monotone sort of voice, then flicked at my hair. "And what about you then? Have that fine piece of blond tied up in your bedroom?"

I began to choke on the piece of apple I had just been chewing up. I coughed a few times, then when I finally managed to breathe properly I gasped, "What!"

"Oh come on," Zach said, patting my back slightly as I coughed a few more times. "You can't tell me that you're _that _blind."

No I am not that blind. Far from. The memory of Malfoy with his glasses resting on that large nose of his meandered its way into my mind's eye. The way his hair had fallen about his eyes while they were on just made me want to push it out of the way. To run my fingers through it and feel how soft it is. What am I thinking about? This is insane. He's Malfoy. So what if his hair looks so soft and he looks drop dead gorgeous in glasses? He's still the same bloody git on the inside that I have always hated. Appearances are deceiving, which is a lesson I just can't seem to learn. I think, no I know, it will be my downfall.

"This is _Draco Malfoy_ that you're lusting after, Zach," I said, trying to remind him of the fact, as well as myself. He frowned at me.

"Sometimes I just want to beat your head against a brick wall, Ginny," he said, shaking his head.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" I demanded, suddenly feeling anger build inside of me. What was he getting at? That I should be falling for Malfoy? Well, I have news for him, Malfoy is still the same git that he always was. He is still the same prick who made my life hell back in school. Just because he looks different on the outside doesn't mean that the inside has changed as well. And it is really starting to piss me off that people keep telling me otherwise. A friend of mine once told me that people don't change. At the time I didn't believe him, and I still don't, but in the case of Malfoy I think what he had said holds a lot of truth.

"And then the woman wonders why she's all alone," Zach grumbled to himself, and I threw my apple at him. I felt my eyes grow wide as he ducked and it thumped against the wall, falling to the ground uselessly. I blinked, watching as he looked down on the apple, then at me, his face falling into a scowl.

"Zach, I'm sorry," I said, my eyes still wide and my heart plummeting into my stomach. He hasn't given me a look like this in a long time. We have had our spats before. Sometimes they are almost like cat fights, but I we always have a reason for starting them. This, this had been unwarranted. I stared down on the apple for a moment, trying to will it back into my hands. It didn't so much as budge. I looked back at my bestest friend. "I didn't-"

He held up his hand. "Whatever Gin," he said, with a shrug that just screamed to me that he was restraining his anger. He scooped up the apple and dropped it into the garbage can beside the table across from me. "How about we both just go out of here and I can go on my date and you can sit by yourself, as usual."

"Excuse me?" I asked, feeling tears suddenly leap to my eyes. I know I had been in the wrong, but it as no reason for him to be so _mean_. So truthful.

In response he opened the door, waiting for me to leave. I stared at him for a moment then dropped my head. "Fine," I said, and walked out, heading towards my own flat. I began to open the door, and was going to slip as silently as I could when I felt a hand catch at my arm. Zach looked down on me with a frown that seemed a little less confident than the one that had been on his face moments before.

"I only want you to be happy Gin," he said, reaching out and brushing at a piece of hair that had fallen into my face. "You know that." I nodded dumbly in response.

I had the sudden urge to latch onto him and never let go, to cry my eyes out into his shoulder until everything wrong in my life –and there suddenly seemed to be so much wrong with it– went right. I restrained myself though. I would just be ruining his night, which is more than a little selfish of me.

"I know," I said instead of the sobs that wanted to come out. I smiled up at him as best I could. "Sorry for throwing my apple at you."

"It's not like it hit me," he said, tapping at my nose. I frowned at him. I hate when he does that, and he knows it too. "You have horrible aim."

I opened my mouth to retort, but he turned and walked away, his hips swaying in the odd way they always do. I watched him until he disappeared down the stairwell, then I turned back to my door and went into my flat.

Maybe he is right. The way I am going I am just going to be alone forever. It never used to really bother me; I mean, I always figured I would just get jumped by some guy and fall in love. But all the guys who did jump me were all the wrong sorts, which led me to the declaration I told you about a few weeks ago. It's a ridiculous declaration though, now that I think about it. If I just sit here and deny love for the rest of my life, as I am certainly trying to right now, I really am going to always be sitting around alone, as Zach said.

You know, this isn't even about Malfoy, he just happens to unfortunately be the new man that has entered into my life, whether I like it or not. But while I have a personal reason to push him away, the things I am doing to him are no different than the things that I do to other men, who I don't have a reason for. Well, maybe I am not as vicious in the way I do it to them as I do it to Malfoy, but I certainly don't let them near me. All so that I can protect myself. All I am doing is hurting myself though.

Now I suddenly feel so alone, standing here in this empty flat. And it doesn't help all that much now that Zach has found someone, as well as Luna. Well, she hasn't admitted it to me yet, but Colin told me – when he called to see if I was alright – that he saw her with some tall, dark, and handsome bloke, getting coffee. Let me just tell you this, the girl doesn't snog just anybody. Why can't I let myself find the happiness that they have? Oh, right. I don't want to get hurt.

I felt something splash down on my hand, and I was surprised to see a tear glistening there. With a deep sigh I wiped at my face, removing all traces of moisture. I am not going to stand her and wallow in self-pity because my life is suddenly crashing down around me. Crashing down, how ironic seeing as I was doing just fine until the beam nearly crashed down on top of me.

With a glance at the window I saw the sun was already going down. It looked lovely out, the sky filled with pinks and oranges. I think that perhaps some air would do me good. Maybe I can clear my head and figure out a way to get myself out of this rut.

With this in mind I grabbed Sneazel's leash off the coat stand as well as my own coat, which I put on. "Who wants to go for a walky?" I called. A moment later I head a "woof" and Sneazel came barrelling out of my bedroom, looking happier than when Luna gives him a good petting. I clipped the leash on, and we headed out the door.

We took the elevator down to the lobby and walked through it. The moment we stepped out of the doors I took a deep breath of the cool crisp air. It helped to alleviate my woes a little bit, but I think I know what can help me a bit more. With a determined nod of my head we walked down the street, towards the only park in the area. We always go there, that way I can take Sneazel off of his leash and let him run around.

Five minutes later we entered the park, and began to move along the same path that we usually go along. There is a nice little clearing at the end of it, where there are lots of sticks and squirrels for Sneazel to chase after.

I let him loose as we entered the clearing, folding up the leash and holding it in my left hand. Sneazel bounded about me, barking happily. I laughed, the melancholy feelings which had attacked me receding even further. Funny how a dog can do that. I stooped down and grabbed a stick, then hoisted it into the air.

"Go get it!" I called, and I threw the stick as far as I could. It made it pretty far, considering how big of a stick it was. I laughed again as the fur ball bounded after it, barking all the while.

I watched him bound after the stick for a moment, then let my eyes wander. I really enjoy this clearing for some reason. I mean, it's nothing special as far as park clearings go, though the tall elms that surround it are rather lovely in the summer, and rather creepy without all their leaves, as they are now. And the picnic benches underneath those trees are very useful when it comes to reading and drawing, as long as you don't have anything too terribly sweet with you so as not to attract bugs.

My eyes fell on one of the benches, and I took a mental step back. There was someone sitting on it, which is not something completely out of the ordinary, but he was staring at me, quite obviously too. I stared back, and suddenly he looked away. Odd. It really annoys me when people stare at me. Yes, I am a woman, does it mean you have to look at me like I am a piece of meat, no.

I felt a wet sensation on my fingers and looked down to see Sneazel bumping into my hand with his nose. I smiled down on him, taking the stick from his mouth. "Well, that was fast," I said, taking the stick into the air again and throwing it as hard as I could. Sneazel once again tore after it, grass flying into the air as he gripped for traction.

"That was a pretty weak throw, Weasley," someone drawled into my ear, and I jumped.

My eyes widening I spun around, not at all surprised to match the voice to the body before me. I am, however, surprised to see him here period. What is he doing, stalking me? It is sure beginning to seem like it. But perhaps I am just overreacting as usual. Maybe I am just turning a series of coincidences into the world being out to get me. But then, this is Malfoy. I am allowed to overreact about him, aren't I?

"Considering that I am a painter and not a Chaser, I thought I did pretty well," I replied, glaring at him. It was then that I noticed just how close he is standing to me. Well, he had spoken into my ear. I can feel the heat radiating off his body, such a contrast to the cooling air. I took a step back, then another, continuing to glare at him.

"Of course you would think that," he drawled, watching as my dog came bounding back, stick in his mouth. I frowned then and opened my mouth to demand to know what he was doing following me around like it seemed he was.

I probably would have managed it too, if it had not been for Sneazel skidding to a halt in front of us, stick in his mouth. The stick which Malfoy took into his hand and lifted into the air. I felt my eyes nearly pop out as he wound back and threw the stick. I followed it with my eyes, watching as it sailed triple the distance that my own throw had caused it to go. Sneazel tore after it, causing grass to go flying, barking.

I couldn't believe it, _Draco_ Malfoy had just thrown a stick for my dog. There is just something completely wrong with the thought of it, let alone the action. Since when does he do stuff like that? Since when does he go around acting so human all of a sudden, so unlike the Slytherin prat that I know he is? If he keeps acting this way he just might convince me that he really has changed, if only a little bit. But no, he hasn't. This is just some bogus coincidence. Maybe I am dreaming.

Regardless though, I drifted my eyes from the stick and my dog over to Malfoy, who was smirking at me arrogantly. "Now that is how you throw a stick," he said, an arrogant smirk playing across his lips. See, there's the prat shinning through.

My eyes slammed back into a frown. "Of course it is," I sneered.

I am not quite sure why I replied so vehemently, but I did. Perhaps it was just the whole week's worth of stress finally finding an outlet, but if that was the case, why wasn't I testier around him when he was in my flat, looking over my life as though he was superior to me? Why didn't I do it when he hired me to do a painting for him?

We slipped into silence as I watched Sneazel bound back once more, stick in his mouth. I watch with curiosity this time as Malfoy took it into his hands again and threw it once more. Maybe I am just pissed off that Malfoy can make my puppy happier with his stick throwing abilities than I can with my own. Which would be ridiculous.

I glanced around and saw a picnic table a little ways away. I turned and walked over to it, seating myself on the top of it. I felt even more surprised as Malfoy came and stood beside me, a moment later taking the stick from Sneazel once more. Why do I keep feeling surprised? Obviously today is a day of nothing being as it should. It must be opposite today, it's the only explanation. Or rather, it's not opposite day, if you catch my meaning.

"So," I said slowly, keeping my eyes on Sneazel as he bounded after the stick again. I don't need to look at Malfoy to know that he is beside me, I can feel the heat of his body radiating into me. "Why did you choose me to paint your mother's portrait?"

"Thinking I have ulterior motives, Weasley?" he drawled, and I looked up at him. He was looking at me over his large nose, eyebrow arched. I exchanged my attention towards him for Sneazel, who had returned with the stick. Malfoy once again threw it.

"Should I be?" I asked, watching Sneazel tear away from us, barking at the stick like his life depended on it.

"All depends on what you consider ulterior, I suppose," he replied. I looked up at him at that to see him smirking at me. I raised my eyebrow at him this time. I stared, taking in his appearance.

Zach had been right, Malfoy is a very attractive person. I am sure he would be even more attractive if he smiled rather than sneered and scowled, but I suppose that would be asking too much of him. Just looking at him now though, watching him throw sticks for my dog, I can tell that something is different about him. I suppose I always knew, from the moment I met him again, but I wouldn't let myself see. Couldn't let myself see. But now I am, if it's only a small amount. But really, the old Malfoy never would have stood here with me, without jibes, while throwing a stick for my dog. If anything, he would have thrown the stick and told _me_ to go after it. Apparently he has grown up. But growing up doesn't equal change, does it? Not really at least? My reasoning is pretty weak, isn't it?

"You weren't the first person I went to, if that is what you are thinking," he finally sighed, and I watched as he ran his hand through his hair. "Trust me, if I had it my way I would not be hiring you of all people to paint a portrait for me." I scowled at him. "Don't stare at me like that, you know full well that if our places were reversed you would not willingly come to me either." Well, he did have a point.

"None of the painters would paint the portrait without her sitting there," he continued, looking away from me as Sneazel returned. I watched as he threw the stick again, his motions looking ever so graceful. I clasped my hands together to restrain the urge to paint. "They kept sending me from one to the other, until I came across a black fellow, who recommended you." He frowned then, turning his attention back to me. "Now that I think about it, I think you dated the bloke back in school."

"You went to Dean?" I asked, feeling surprise run through me once more. It wasn't so much that he had gone to see Dean, but more the fact that Dean had recommended me to Malfoy.

Dean was the one who inspired me to paint, the one whose own work made me want to be like him. It was a wonderful relationship, at first. He seemed to take great pride in the fact that he was better than me, like a teacher. As I got better though, and began to find my own legs, things got a little dicey. This was long after our whole attempt at dating, which had only lasted a few months. Once I began to come into my own Dean could no longer treat me as a student, and I think he began to see me as a threat in a way. It's silly, but I think he really did, even though his style and mine are quite different from each other. We distanced ourselves over this, but lately things have gotten better, we see more of each other. But he never really says anything about my own work, and if he does it's a day to mark the coming apocalypse. For him to recommend me to someone is just, well, unheard of. So I hope you can understand my surprise.

Malfoy only nodded to my question, once again throwing the stick. I frowned, something occurring to me. "How many painters did you go to?"

He paused for a moment. "About seven," he replied with a shrug, eyes following my dog, who had jumped up into the air to catch the stick and was already make his way back. The sticks were no longer going as far as they had been before.

"So why didn't you ask me for a reference?" I asked, frowning further. Well, I am sure he wouldn't want me to paint for him of his own free will. Even if someone had recommended me to him, I am surprised that he even came to me, let alone settled with me. I watched him carefully as he shrugged.

"You seemed competent enough to me."

"Is that a complement I hear?" I asked, feigning shock. "Could it possibly be that a Malfoy just complimented a Weasley?" He looked down on me, his lip twitching ever so slightly.

"It's almost as preposterous as a Malfoy having a civilized conversation with a Weasley," he said, once again taking the stick from Sneazel and throwing it. I watched it go, realizing it wasn't much further than I could get it. He was getting tired.

"Then I must have heard you wrong," I replied, a grin pulling ever so lightly at my lips.

This can't be happening. I really am having a civilized conversation with a Malfoy. With Draco Malfoy. Since when is this possible? Where did all the snarkyness go? When did the banter go? Why am I not missing it as much as I should?

"Does this thing ever get tired?" Malfoy asked, watching my puppy bound back towards us with the stick in his mouth.

"Eventually," I replied dryly. He skidded to a halt in front of Malfoy, tail wagging furiously. "But that doesn't usually happen until whoever is throwing the stick collapses of exhaustion." If I had meant for that to be snarky it didn't come out that way. It just sounded truthful, which it was. Did the snarkyness die for good?

We slipped back into silence and I watched as Malfoy threw the stick several more times, before giving up and sitting beside me on the top of the bench. When Sneazel saw this he let out a huff of annoyance, then trotted off in the other direction, most likely to find some squirrels. He likes to chase squirrels.

I turned to look at Malfoy, only to find that he was watching me with an expressionless face. I narrowed my eyes ever so slightly. "What?" I asked.

"Nothing," he replied with a shrug, turning away from me and looking around.

"You know, it is impossible for it to be nothing," I told him, watching as Sneazel sniffed around a tree trunk. "No matter what you still have to be doing _something_ because even if nothing is going through your head it is still something as you can say it is nothing which gives it substance making it something."

A bark of laughter greeted my ears. It seems that that is the way the man always laughs. It could get rather annoying after a while. I turned to see him looking at me, a hint of laughter in his eyes. No, it wasn't a hint, it was laughter. In his eyes. Since when does a Malfoy have anything but malicious mirth in his eyes when he laughs? This day just keeps getting weirder and weirder. "That made absolutely no sense, Weasley."

"Well, it made sense to me," I replied with a huff, but I could feel my lips trying to go up into a smile. Stupid treacherous lips.

To distract myself I turned my attention down to Sneazel's leash, which I had been bothering between my fingers ever since I sat down. It was now a jumble of knots. With a slight sigh I began to undo the knots, but it wasn't as easy as it should have been. Blast my hands and their need to keep moving.

"Here," Malfoy, who had been watching me for the past few minutes, said. I watched as he leant forward, and began to pull at one part of the rope. I didn't pull away as I should have; instead I just sat there dumbly as the heat of his body washed over me, the scent of him invading my sense.

A moment later he leant back, taking the rope with him. Whatever he had done with that one part must have worked, for the rope was now completely knot free. He held it out for me. I stared at it for a moment, then reached out and took it. "Thanks," I said quietly, not quite realizing I had said it until it was too late.

He simply smirked at me in a smug way. "This seems to be a day of change Weasley," he said, smirk spreading a little more. "First we have civilized conversation, and now you are thanking me? What's next?"

"I don't know," I replied truthfully, then got to my feet, brushing off my clothes. "But I don't think waiting around to find out is a good idea. Hopefully the next time I see you our animosity towards each other will be back to where it should be." Somehow I didn't really want that to happen.

Malfoy didn't say anything, but as I called Sneazel over he did pet Sneazel's head. I was far to used to all the surprises of the day to notice it being too odd. I attached Sneazel's leash to his collar and took a step back.

"Well, Sneazel thanks you," I said, giving Sneazel my own pat. He was leaning against my leg, looking like he was ready for a good nap. I don't think I have seen him this sated in a while.

"Only Sneazel?" he asked with a smirk, crossing his arms. He arched an eyebrow and I scowled at him.

"Yes, only Sneazel," I replied, tugging on his leash. "You already got one word of gratitude out of my mouth today. I can't see you needing anymore for a very long time."

"Of course not," he replied, his smirk spreading.

I didn't respond. I simply nodded my head and turned and walked away. I could feel his eyes on my back, but I didn't turn around and glare at him as I probably should have. It was that lack of action that has confirmed to me just how insane I am. More insane than I ever thought I was before. Well, I had just gotten along with Malfoy for a good chunk of the day, and on more than one occasion. Can I get anymore insane?

Don't answer that.

o-o-o

**Works Cited:**

o- "What's next? She finds out about my allergies and begins to call me Sneezy?" – This is the nickname I have given to my sister, because when she was younger she would wake up and literally sneeze twenty times. I thought the name was rather appropriate.

o- "As soon as it realized that it had got my attention it began to lick my pants." – My one dog does this. To everyone. I just don't get it.

o-o-o

A/N: Well, this chapter was much harder to redo than any of the others. I don't know why. I think I might have changed a few of their attitudes a bit too much in this chapter, but I don't want to go back and remove them. They seem to work, and I really want to go back to actually writing this story. I am now back on track, seeing as I completely deleted chapter 5. No more dognapping as this chapter reveals. Oh dear. But I have something better in store. Just you wait. Anyhoo, don't know when I will get it out, but hopefully will be soon. I really want to just write the next five or so chapters. SO many plans for them...

Many thanks to: **Katherine**(Hey, your on LJ, right?)**, EvaYasha**(Thanks for the offer :D)**, possumgurl, tulzdavampslayer**(Glad to see you are still around, dear)**, hoppers, twinkletoes22**(That's exactly what I am going for)**, Toes of the Tickled Kind**(Love your name) and **bridget**(Well, I hope to write a few more. And I will certainly check out your sister's stuff if I get the chance)


	5. Raise a Little Hell

Title: Painting an Oyster

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one legged lesbian seagull hotmail com (Please add 3 underscores, one "at" sign, and a period)

A/N: Well, I think it is time to update this story when everyone keeps yelling at me to do so when they review my other stories... Thanks for that you guys. :p I was really excited for this chapter at first, because it was all new and sparkly, then I didn't like it so much, but now that it's edited I like it again. 'Cause yah, I'm not moody. :p Enjoy! Yay! Newness!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing at all. So poor. Sniffles all around. You know, you could commission me to draw you a piece of art and then we could both own something... I shut up now. The shameless plug has ended.

**Painting an Oyster**

**Chapter 5**

**Raise a Little Hell**

o-o-o

Soundtrack: "Raise a Little Hell" by Trooper

o-o-o

"Chirp chirp," something said happily from behind the curtain of my bedroom window. I blearily cracked an eye open to glare at what ever it was, but only blackness greeted my eyes. I cannot sleep properly if there is even a sliver of light in my room. It annoys me. "Chirp chirp." And so does that bloody bird.

With a groan I rolled over in my bed and reached blindly for the string on my light. After a few waves of my hand I found it and gave it a yank, bringing the lamp to life, causing over bright light to flood the room. I slammed my eyes shut, then blinked several times as my eyes adjusted. I hate mornings.

I dragged myself out of bed and meandered into my bathroom, where I proceeded to do the things I usually do in the morning: brush my teeth, shave, stare at my hair in disgust, have a shower, then get dressed and all that jazz. Bloody mornings. I hate mornings. Especially- wait. It's not Monday yet. It's only Saturday! We're not open on Saturdays. Great.

I stopped my hand from reaching for a tie and looked back at my bed. It looked so comfortable; the sheets still messed up and perfectly shaped for my body. All I would have to do is climb back in there and forget I ever thought it was Monday. I don't, after all, have to be doing anything until twelve o'clock, and it's only nine.

But no, I might as well get some things done now, rather than have to do them later. Wow, would you look at me. Draco Malfoy wakes up early on a Saturday and decides that he should do things rather than laze about. Seriously, what has gotten into me? I rolled my shoulder, which was oddly stiff. Oh, that is what is wrong with me. Where should I begin?

First I nearly have a bout of depression because I am out of red cabbage, then I decide one night stands are boring, then I go and walk a Weasley home. Oh, but it doesn't stop there. Nope. I have to go over to that Weasley's flat, hire her to paint a portrait of my mother, then gawk at her like some sex starved bloke. Don't you dare say anything. But it still doesn't stop there, for after I leave her flat I go to get coffee, and while exiting the cafe I had been in I see the bloody red head again, and oh yes, I _followed_ her into the park. But you know, no outing into insanity is complete without throwing sticks for the bloody woman's dog, and horror of all horrors, enjoying it.

I think I need to get away from her. I think that her insanity is rubbing off on me. I am sane, or at least I was sane. Now I am not quite so sure. I keep seeing red, and for some reason I keep finding myself in situations with red. How is this possible? I am a Malfoy, she is a Weasley. That should be more than enough reason to keep away from her and keep her out of my mind, but it isn't, apparently. Fuck.

With a hiss of annoyance I stomped my way out of my room, down the hall and into my kitchen. My stomping did not make me feel any better, and I can't even have the satisfaction of knowing that my stomping woke up whoever it is that lives bellow me. Stupid silencing charms, ruining all my fun.

I threw some coffee into the coffee pot, then grabbed a Danish, dropped it onto a plate and put the plate on my kitchen table. I glared at it. It was cherry flavour. I wonder if her lips taste like cherries, they certainly seem to resemble the same colour. Gah! How can I think such a thing? Why am I thinking such a thing? Why can't she get out of my head!

I stormed my way into the sitting room, where the _Daily Prophet_ was resting on the desk near the window. The delivery owl had already taken the payment I had left out for it. Good for it. So I gathered up my paper and stormed my way back into the kitchen, my little fieldtrip into the sitting room not changing a thing.

I threw the paper down on the table then grabbed a mug from the cupboard and filled it with coffee. Maybe the caffeine will kick some sense into my brain. I took a sip of it, swearing at how hot it was. Nope, apparently not.

I flopped down at my table, put on my glasses, and glared at the front page of the paper. Nothing interesting caught my attention so I flipped to the next page, where a headline declared that a budgie had saved it's owner's life by flapping its wings so hard that it put out a fire. Fascinating. This is certainly worthy of my attention. I began to flip the page but a crash and a curse stilled my hand, my free one reaching for my wand.

"Damnit Malfoy," Blaise's voice cut through the walls. I instantly relaxed, flipping the page I had been proceeding to flip before. "Since when did you put this here?" I heard something topple to the ground and I had a feeling that Blaise had found my new footstool. The git.

I heard more stomping about, and I had this dreadful feeling that my friend was moving my furniture around; though as to why he would be doing such a thing is beyond me. Well, it's not, but my brain is still half asleep and my coffee is still too hot to wake it up.

"Wow, nice hair," Blaise said as he came around the corner and into the kitchen. I frowned at him then raised my hand to touch my head. Apparently I forgot to comb my hair this morning. What else is going to go wrong today? I tried to smooth it down but I know it is a fruitless task. Only a handful of product will tame it.

I watched as Blaise went over to my coffee pot and poured him self a cup, then perused over to where I stashed my Danishes. It seemed to take him longer than it should have to pick one. "You ate all the red ones," he accused me, still looking in the box.

"Well good morning to you too," I replied dryly, looking down on the untouched danish beside me. "There's a red one over here." I gestured towards it.

"Well, I suppose you are forgiven then," he said, taking the box with him as he came and sat down across from me. I glared at him, then turned my attention down to paper again. Still nothing interesting. Why do I even bother reading the local section anymore?

"Wait," his voice cut through my mind, his hand landing on my paper before I could turn the next page. "How much coffee have you had?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" I demanded, glaring from his hand to his face. His blue eyes looked at me from under that mop of hair he tends to so carefully. I have heard that it looks like hobbit hair, though as to what a hobbit is is beyond me. Sounds like something foul though.

"I don't think you want to see what is on the next page until you are a bit more awake," Blaise cautioned me and I frowned at him more. What could possibly be on the next page that I need to be awake for? If something has happened to any of my estates I would have heard about it by now. "Trust me."

I glared at him then shoved his hand away, ignoring his warning, though I did take a sip of my now tolerable coffee as I turned the page. I probably shouldn't have, for what I saw made me spit it out across the table. Blaise made a disgruntled noise, but I didn't acknowledge it, for there, taking up a good size chunk of the seventh page, was Weasley and I. And we looked like we were doing something that I know we will never ever do. I felt my eyes get wider as I read the headline.

"_Minister's daughter secretly dating family enemy_!" I demanded of Blaise, looking up at him as if this was some sort of joke on his part. Please tell me this is some sort of joke. It has to be. This can't be real. This can't be circulating around as I sit here. It just can't! "What the hell is this!"

"I was hoping you would have this sort of reaction," Blaise said sarcastically, wiping at his clothes with a dishrag. I glared at him. "Hey, it's not my doing!" he declared, holding up his hands and dropping the rag onto the table. "From the looks of it you seem to be having a good time at least."

"What?" I sputtered, looking down on the page again. Somehow who ever had taken the photo had caught us at an angle so that it looked like I was kissing her, her face blocked from view with the back of my head, yet her distinctive mane of hair gave her away. "I certainly was not!"

"That's not what it looks like," Blaise continued on, leaning forward and snatching up the Danish from my plate. "So how long has this been going on, and why haven't you told me about it?"

If I had felt distraught before, it was nothing compared to how I felt now. My eyes felt like they were going to pop out of my skull as I looked at Blaise. He was smirking at me as though he was having the time of his life. I have never wanted to hex him more than I do right now. And you can trust me, there have been times were I was very close to doing so.

"This isn't funny Zabini," I growled, glaring from him to the horrid picture once more. "This could ruin me!"

"How?" Blaise asked with a laugh, biting into my Danish. "To me it just seems like you are having some fun with the Minister's daughter, behind my back apparently, but nothing horrible." His smirk spread as I glared death at him. "To other people though, well, they don't know you as well as I do. So far I have heard that you are having this," he gestured at the picture as he said this, "steamy love affair so that you can both spite your families. Another was that you are trying to get your foot in the door at the Ministry."

I snorted at that last one. Like I need Weasley to do that. Blaise seemed to be thinking along the same lines as his smirk spread wider.

"But the other one that might pose a problem is that you are using the beautiful daughter of the Minister for Magic to get the chance to off her father, thus making your self the Minister." Blaise let out a laugh at that one. "The best one by far though, was that you are simply trying to get close to the girl who was possessed by the Dark Lord, who is conveniently the daughter of the Minister. It's all a masterfully plotted plan which will involve several chickens and a sombrero, which will ultimately allow you to finally figure out where you left Snape's favourite cauldron. If that is what you are talking about, then yes, you very well might be ruined."

"You made that last one up yourself," I grumbled, glaring down on the newspaper, and taking several large gulps of my coffee. No, if this is the way my day is going then I am going to need several more pots, every hour on the hour. How could this have happened? Who did this? I am going to kill them.

"Yes, yes I did," he replied, smirking. "And you have to admit it was rather clever of me." I glared up at him and he just laughed in my face. "Come on mate, it's not that bad. It's not like she's a hag or anything. I happen to know that she is a very attractive woman. Far better than any of the others you have managed to bag."

"But she's a Weasley!" I burst out, the anger and shock at the picture suddenly finding an outlet. "She's the same little brat that used to chase me around in school! She's the same neurotic woman who works for my _mother_ of all people! And she is absolutely insane! You should hear her ramble on about this and that! I don't care how bloody attractive she is, she's a bloody loony!"

I stared at Blaise, my pulse pounding and my heart thumping wildly in my chest. Everything I had said was true. She was all of that. But for some reason she is still in my head. Blaise began to grin in earnest now.

"And you want nothing more than to slam her up against a wall and fuck her brains out," Blaise replied, taking another bite from his Danish. I glared at him sullenly. The bloody git does know me too well.

I dropped my eyes and skimmed over the article below the image, not willing to verbally agree with the man across from me. Apparently Weasley and I have been dating for the past few weeks, ever since we had stumbled across each other at her work and just hit it off. Hit it off my ass. The article also said that it had been a secret relationship and that they had heard from a reliable source that several of her brothers were prepared to rip my bloody heart out for touching her.

"Fuck," I muttered, my eyes leaping from word to word. "Her brothers. Her brothers are going to read this thing and think it is true and come after me with pitchforks for defiling their baby sister!" I wanted to beat my head against my table. Maybe if I do that then I can put myself out of my own misery before they get their filthy paws on me.

"But you're in love," Blaise said, laughter in his voice. I looked up and glared at him. He was having far too much fun at my expense. "How could they kill you if their wittle sister is in wuve? Most of them have wives, they know what it's like."

"Most of them," I replied, my eyes dropping down to the article again. "What about the rest of them. It only takes one neurotic Weasley to start a revolution among the brood."

"Are you sure?" Blaise asked me, arching an eyebrow. "So why don't you use your girlfriend to convince them that you should not be killed?"

"She is not my girlfriend," I said irritably, flinging the paper closed and glaring at it as though it was all its fault.

"Yet," Blaise said his smirk showing to me that this was his early Christmas present.

"Why are you even here?" I demanded, getting up from my seat and moving towards the coffeepot. I was amazed to see that my hands were shaking as I grabbed the pot. How could I be this shaken up? Well, that's easy to explain, the world thinks I am boffing a fucking Weasley! "Shouldn't you be having fun with your new girl?"

"She has a brunch date with one of her girlfriends," Blaise replied offhandedly. I could hear him rummaging through my Danish box again. I turned and glared at him, only to find him smiling back at me. "So I decided to come over here and make sure you wouldn't do anything stupid like fling yourself out a window or drown yourself in the bathtub."

"How thoughtful of you," I replied, gulping down the contents of my cup, belatedly realizing this cup was still hot. I began to cough.

"Hmm, never thought about the coffee," he replied, getting up and making his way over to me. He whacked me on the back a few times and it only made me cough harder. I felt my eyes getting wider by the moment. "You're getting more original as you age, Draco, which is probably a good thing with your career."

I slammed the empty cup onto the counter and stood up straighter, coughing once or twice for good measure. Blaise smirked at me. "So, now that your first suicide attempt didn't work, care to tell me what is really going on?"

I stared at him for a moment. I am not quite sure how Blaise and I came to be as good friends as we are. I never liked him in school until my seventh year. We were always too competitive when we were kids, and though while we did do things together, we always ended up at each other's throats. It's funny, but now he is the oldest friend I have, and I don't know where I would be without him. Not that I will ever tell him that. But I have a feeling he knows without my saying anything.

I let out a huge sigh then felt my shoulders slump. "How did I know you were going to ask me that?" I asked, smoothing my hair out again. "It shouldn't take too long, but I have a feeling it might."

"Well then, I think we are going to need more coffee," Blaise said, smirking. "Or do you require something more potent?" I glared at him, suddenly feeling very glad for his presence. He might be an insufferable git sometimes, but he does know me much better than I care to admit.

o-o-o

I couldn't sleep very long this morning, which is a rather sad state of affairs since I don't have to work again until Monday. But no, I woke up around my usual time, which is seven, and realized that my limbs were really itchy. So, I got up and changed my dressings, but as I crawled back into bed all I could do was think. After thinking for over half an hour about things I really don't want to think about, namely Malfoy, I got up. So, now I'm painting.

I am actually really interested as to where this new painting is going. It's just so bizarre. So unlike what I usually do, yet it still has my style contained within it. Odd. I am just going to have to wait till the end to figure out what it is going to be like.

Now, you might think this is strange, I mean, shouldn't I know what I am doing before I do it? Well, some people can paint like that, having exactly what they want in mind and producing it, but I can't. I can have a vague idea but what I produce is always quite a bit different from what I thought it would be like. This painting I am just letting my subconscious do all the work. Honestly, it's staring to creep me out a little.

I heard Sneazel bark before my door opened, and by the frantic scratching of his claws I knew it was Zach entering my flat. I turned round to look at him, wondering why he was in my flat. Usually I am asleep at this time of day if I don't have to go to work. There was that, oh, and the fact that he should still be mad at me for my display last night.

He took a step into the room and froze, looking at me as though I had a second head. "What are you doing up?" he asked, frowning as he slowly closed the door. "And painting?"

"Couldn't sleep anymore," I replied with a shrug, twitching my brush in my hand. I have never been skilled enough to twirl anything between my fingers, though I always thought it was cool when someone could do it with their wands.

Sneazel walked up to Zach and began to growl. Zach looked down on my puppy with a frown and walked past him, effectively ignoring him. Well, it would have been effective if Sneazel's nose hadn't gotten out of joint, causing him to bark and follow Zach close on his heels. He walked up to me and planted a kiss on my forehead, causing Sneazel to bark with annoyance. "Well, there go my plans to surprise you with food then."

I frowned up at him, watching as he looked at my painting. This should not be happening. With a mental shrug I turned and looked at it as well, resisting a shudder at the oddness of it. I never really look at my paintings as I do them, I more just focus on the areas that I am working on. Sometimes when I pull back what is there surprises me. Or disturbs me in this case. I turned my attention back to him. "I take you had a good night then?"

"I take it you did as well," he replied with a smirk. I looked at him quizzically. What on earth is he talking about? This is just getting odder by the minute. What I did yesterday should have him angry at me for at least a week, and if not that, then at least be a little stiffer in his conversations and actions. But now he's acting as though nothing had happened at all. Or that something else had happened to counteract the effects of what I had done. But I didn't attempt to fix it; I didn't even attempt to defend myself. So what's going on? And how could he know as to whether or not I had a good night last night?

"What do you mean?" I asked, voicing my confusion.

"Oh come off it," he said, waving the _Daily Prophet_ in front of my face. I frowned more. "The proof is all in here. Obviously our little spat had more to it than just your dislike of Malfoy."

"What are you talking about?" I demanded, grabbing the paper from him and scowling at it. Now I am really confused. What could possibly be in the papers that could get him out of the anger stage so quickly? I opened the paper and began to flip through it, my mouth going slack as it fell open to the seventh page.

"Gah!" I yelped, dropping the paper. For there, on page seven, was Malfoy and me! And Malfoy was _kissing_ me!

My hands flew to my mouth. That didn't happen, didn't it? I am sure that I would have remembered if he had swooped in like that and kissed me. Wouldn't I? Or maybe it was such a fantastic experience that my mind went into shock and I now have temporary amnesia. I have heard of that happening before. Really. Maybe it happened to me. Maybe I will suddenly remember. What if I really did kiss Malfoy!

"Now it all makes sense!" Zach continued, beginning to pace behind me. I ignored him and stared down on the picture again, perhaps I hadn't seen it properly the first time. Nope, still the same horridly wrong image.

This has to be some kind of sick joke, though as to who would want to play it is beyond me. I would never–and never have–let Malfoy kiss me, let alone come near enough to me to allow him to do anything of the sort. But then, he did lean in when he was helping me with Sneazel's leash, didn't he?

I looked closer at the image, sure enough it wasn't moving all that much, just enough to show that Malfoy was moving in, but his eyes weren't focused on my lips. No, they were focused on my lap. Those bastards! They took a picture of that and the angle simply looked like he was kissing me! Who would do such a thing, and why?

"Of course you would be over zealous about your hate towards Malfoy if you didn't want any of us to figure out the two of you were an item," Zach's voice greeted my ears, forcing me to turn and look at him, mouth open slightly. "And why you got so mad at me for making a passing comment about how he looks." He stopped moving and turned to look at me. "But why wouldn't you tell me, Ginny?"

I felt my mouth fall open further. Does he seriously believe–?

"What? Zach? No- I- What the hell!" I finally got out. Leaping to my feet, I stooped to grab the paper, flapping it around. "How can you believe that! I certainly am not having," I glanced at the headline, "a secret affair with Malfoy!" I flapped the paper about some more. "This is some kind of sick joke! There is no way that I would touch that bloke with a ten foot pole, let alone with my lips. This is some sort of elaborate lie meant to bring both of us hell!"

I stopped for a moment, breathing heavily. My heart was just starting to slow down when a thought occurred to me that sent it racing again. Everyone in England will be reading this soon, if the majority haven't already. Everyone that I know will be reading this. Everyone that hates Malfoy, or me for that matter. They are all going to read it and think that I am bloody well having a bloody _affair_ with Malfoy! Oh gosh, what will my family say, what will his? What will they all do!

Zach stared at me, but I didn't want to stare back so I dropped my head into my hands. Why would someone do this? It isn't even funny. My family is going to freak. Ron is going to freak. Oh no, Ron. He's going to hunt down Malfoy like a dog and kill him, I just know it. And for some reason that thought is causing me far more distress than it should.

"Are you sure that you are not simply reacting like this because your secret has been blown?" Zach's suspicious voice cut through the questions and scenarios that were suddenly whirling through my head.

"Zach!" I cried out, lifting my head blearily from my hands. "How long have you known me for? Why wouldn't I tell you? Why would I let you shove me around and torment me for being alone when I had a man all along! You know I wouldn't do that! Why are you thinking that now?"

"Whoa," he replied, "calm down Gin, it's ok."

"No, it is not ok!" I yelled back at him. "Some nutter just put a picture of Malfoy and me _kissing_ on the seventh page of the _Daily Prophet_, Zach! Everyone is going to think that Malfoy and I are dating, when there is no way in hell that it will ever happen!" I looked up at him with what I am sure is an all together pathetic look.

Sneazel came over to me then, working his head onto my lap. He looked up at me, wiggling his rear end to make his fluffy tail twitch about. I looked down on him and smiled slightly, then reached out and gave his neck a hug.

"Well, how did they get a picture like that then?" Zach asked. I looked up at him, not letting go of my puppy, to see that his face was creased in a pensive frown. He stooped and picked up the paper, which had apparently fallen from my hands, and opened it to that dreaded page once more. "It wasn't taken in here."

I looked at him and sighed. Either way I am going to have to tell him, though I don't need to tell him about the part that I actually had a good time. "Well, I ran into him at the park when I took Sneazel for a walk," I began. "And he was throwing sticks for Sneazel, and then I got the leash all tangled up and Malfoy helped me untangle it." I stopped with a shrug, looking at his face.

"And you said the man hasn't changed at all?" he asked in disbelief. "Since when does a Malfoy throw anything that isn't a hex, or isn't that what you always say he was like in Hogwarts?"

"He was- is!" I declared, turning my face away and into the soft fur on Sneazel's neck. "What am I going to do, Zach?"

"Well first off, it's not just going to be you," he said, moving towards the kitchen, taking the paper with him. "I am going to make you some food while you owl Malfoy to see what his take is on all this. He is probably just as worked up about this as you are, if all you have said is true. Then after you get his owl you are going to owl your father's media people and see what they think is the best course of action." He stopped in the doorway. "The last thing we want to do is make it worse by sending a Howler to the paper." He glanced at the window. "But first you are going to let that owl in and listen to the Howler your brother has sent you."

"How do you know it's from my brother?" I asked with a frown, pulling away from Sneazel and looking out the window. There was a small, neurotic owl banging into the sliding door, a red letter clutched in his talons. Pigwidgeon was never quite intelligent enough to just tap at the glass. I closed my eyes at the sight. Why has this day taken such a turn for the worse?

It was three days later that I found myself in my office, trying to find the furniture and cabinets that I knew were in here when I first moved in. Unfortunately, clutter and stacks of paper have hidden them from me, making me wonder if they really are under all of this.

I keep finding stacks of papers, individual papers, and other assortments of odd things, that I don't even remember writing, let alone putting in my office. If you can even call this small little space an office. I shouldn't complain though, because it does have a window, which I can open and let in fresh air, which I am doing now, letting in the cool night breeze.

With a sigh I dropped myself back into the chair at my desk and stared up at the ceiling. I had handed in my two weeks notice today, much to Mister Walter's dismay. I assured him that I would find someone to replace me before my two weeks were up, which I will. It's just a matter of finding someone responsible enough, and going through this hell hole that I call an office so that they will have some reference material to work with.

I have this dreadful feeling that this is going to take more than a few all-nighters. It's already seven o'clock now, well past the time I usually leave. But it's necessary, and I deserve it. If I would just file things right away I wouldn't have this problem. But no, I have to let everything pile up for over two years, and now I have to sort it all out in two weeks, not to mention negotiate a few more deals concerning the new floors. I wonder if I can somehow convince who ever replaces me to allow my art to hang on these walls. Somehow I doubt I will ever manage that.

I took in a lungful of the cool air blowing over my face and closed my eyes. You know, I wish I could just get a break. It seems that my life is just dishing me one thing after the other. First there was Malfoy, then the beam, then the newspaper incident, and now my office. Well, the last one was my own fault, but the rest weren't.

It's been three days since that bloody article and I can still hear all the Howlers screeching in my ears. I got at least five from my own family and another twenty or so from Malfoy's fan club. And yes, he apparently has one. After that I had locked the windows tight and tried to ignore them as they began to rave at me from outside. Then my parents had shown up by Floo, both of whom were not the happiest I had ever seen them.

It took me an hour before I could convince either of them that there really is nothing going on between Malfoy and I. I think Zach's stack of pancakes helped me convince them of the truth, but it was Malfoy's owl that helped in the long run. He seemed just as distraught as I was about the whole scenario, ranting and raving about idiot fools who didn't know where to keep their noses and poorly creative minds. It was at that point that my dad got on the Floo with his media people, and he does have quite a few of them.

Within hours there was a second story going about claiming that who ever had taken the image and came up with the story was just trying to stir up trouble with the Malfoy-Weasley relations. Which, they said, had been cooling off nicely over the past decade or so. I would like to know when that happened. But then, I am not going to argue about it since the second article did make the majority of the Howlers go away. There is one thing to be said about having a powerful dad, and that is people know when it is time to back off.

Actually, considering the fact that the first article was on the seventh page and the second on the third, people have become surprisingly quite about the whole thing. Perhaps they need more evidence of a scandal, and I am certainly not going to give them any. Not if my life depends on it. There is no way I want to the world thinking that I am dating a Malfoy. I will never date that prick, even if he does look rather smashing in those glasses of his.

I retrospect though, it was Luna who made everything seem a bit better. We had planned to go to lunch together a few days before, and when we got together she didn't say much about the article. Actually, she hadn't even known it was in the paper until Zach proudly showed it to her. I have to give her credit, she only giggled once or twice before she managed to at least look as though she wasn't going to choke on her own laughter. It caused me much huffing at the time, but I think her humour helped me out. That and the deserts she decided we should cook in my flat rather than going outside in the open where the Howlers could get me. Zach, of course, stayed around, filling us in on the details of his date from the night before. And oh, what details they were.

There was a knock at my door, and I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping who ever it was would go away. After the second knock then the third I began to get the impression that they weren't. Bloody persistent people. Can't they just leave me to wallow in my cluttered office with my self-pitying thoughts?

"It's open," I called, groaning as I leant forward and sat up in my chair. I was just beginning to smooth my hair out, which had become a little poofy as hanging about causes hair to become, when my eyes fell on the one person I never want to see. He looked at me then around my office, a sneer pulling at his lips.

"Is it impossible for you to keep anything clean, Weasley?" Malfoy drawled, as he cautiously took a step forward and closed the door. I winced as a meter rule crashed to the ground behind the door.

"Apparently not," I grumbled, glaring at the offending ruler. How did it get there anyway? I don't remember even owning one. Suppose I will figure it out when I get to that area of my office.

"Bloody hell, Weasley," he scowled, taking another step forward then coming to a stop. "And I thought your flat was bad. Do they actually pay you to work here? Doesn't your manager have anything to say about this?" He waved his hand about my overly cluttered office space.

"He doesn't come here anymore," I replied, which was the truth. He said the sight gave him a headache, and as such he always calls me to his own office if he wants to talk to me. I can't complain because then I don't get as many surprise visits. Who am I kidding, I'm just a slob.

"I wonder why," the blond grumbled, looking around again then shaking his head. "How can you get any work done in here?" He paused as his eyes fell on a pile of doodles I had begun to sort out of my paperwork. I had dropped them into a box to go through later. Doodles have the power to inspire you know. I still have almost all of mine, with the exception of the ones Snape and McGonagall got a hold of. Neither of them appreciated my artistic talents back in school, well not until I got to do McGonagall's portrait, but I am not going to get into that just now.

"Haven't you ever heard that a little clutter helps to inspire the mind?" I asked, letting my hands fall into my lap. He looked around my room as if to prove a point. I followed his eyes. Yes, I realise this is a beyond a little clutter. "My mind simply needs a lot of clutter to get it inspired."

"And that explains so much about you as a person," he drawled, looking down on his nails. I felt my annoyance flare. Who is he to come in her and insult my office, however warranted his comments may be. Hasn't he caused me enough trouble already? Can't he just leave me alone?

"Is there any particular reason that you are here, Malfoy?" I demanded, hopefully cutting off anything else that he had to say about my workspace. "Because if there isn't I have a lot of work I need to get done."

"You really do get cranky when it gets late, don't you?" he sneered at me. I scowled back at him. "No wonder I kept you a secret, I couldn't be taking you out to evening events with that attitude of yours."

I let out a snort. "Like I would ever go to any of those stupid functions with you anyways," I snarled, crossing my arms over my chest. And I have been to more than enough to know that they really are stupid. The only part I enjoy is the outfits, but I can see those well enough from a magazine the next day. "And as you are talking about that, I think it would be best if we don't see each other anymore, lest people begin to think that that bogus article really was true."

"I wasn't aware that we were seeing each other, Weasley," he drawled, a smug smirk crossing across his lips. I scowled at him.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," I snapped. "And if I didn't know any better I would say that you _enjoy_ the idea of us having some secret affair." That wiped the smirk right off his face. Good, I think I would have more than a few mental issues if he really did find the idea appealing.

"Well, there certainly would be benefits, I suppose," he replied after a moment, the smirk slowly returning. I felt my eyes grow wide. He couldn't possibly mean- "I would get to annoy that prat brother of yours, and Potter. Both of whom, by the way, sent me several owls giving me gruesome details about what they were going to do with me when they got their hands on me. Personally I don't think that they were being very realistic, but then what can I expect from a couple of Gryffindors like them?"

I stared at him. That was the most Slytherin thing I have heard him say since I had the unfortunate luck of seeing him again. Odd how it is my brother and Harry that bring it out of him.

"And then there would be the sex," he continued, making me snapped my head to look at him sharply. He did not just say that. "I happen to know for a fact that red heads really are feistier."

"You're an ass, Malfoy," I hissed at him, scowling at his smirk. He was enjoying this, and sadly, the tug at my lips was telling me that I was too.

"Among other things," he replied, stooping down slightly in a mock bow.

I heaved a sigh, uncrossing my arms and running my hands through my hair. "Why are you here, Malfoy?" I glanced around this mess. "I really do have work that I need to get done."

"As you wish," he replied, his smirk spreading a touch further. "I need to see the blueprints for the expansion again." He glanced around. "If you can find them that is."

"I know where they are," I scowled, getting to my feet and tugging my skirt back into place. I then made my way over to my plan chest and tugged at one of the drawers. Only it wouldn't open as easily as it usually does. Well, actually, it always has been one of those sticky drawers that become sticky at inconvenient times, like now. I gave it another tug. Stupid thing.

"Need a hand, Weasley," Malfoy asked beside my ear. I turned and glared at him. He was standing about a foot away from me. How did he get all the way over here without me hearing him. Well, I suppose it was only a couple of steps, but still.

"No, I do not," I replied stubbornly, tugging at the drawer with more force. I resisted the urge to put my feet up on it and pull with my whole body. I've done that before, it hurts when the drawer comes flying towards you and you crash to the ground. I gave it a harder tug. "I can do it myself."

"You're useless Weasley," Malfoy finally said with exasperation after I had tugged a few more times. He took a step forward just as the drawer screeched open, sending me stumbling back.

"Gah!" I let out in surprise as I crashed back into him, sending us both into my desk, which was only a foot or so behind us.

I heard Malfoy swear, as our backward fall was jostled by the desk corner. My hands flew out to brace myself just as his clamped around my hips. A moment later the momentum the drawer had given us stopped causing us to move. I stayed perfectly still, feeling my heart race and Malfoy's warm body pressed into my back. After a moment I blinked, realising exactly what I was feeling.

"See, I told you I could get it open," I said as I tried to jerk myself out of his grasp, but he held on. I stopped for a second. Why wouldn't he let go of me. You can't say that he enjoys touching me. And why is that the first assumption that I make? "Let go of me, Malfoy."

"Right," he said, clearing his throat and releasing my hips from his large hands. It kind of amazes me how small they had made my hips feel. I know I don't have tiny hips, not that I am complaining about them, but it takes big hands to make them feel _small_.

I stood up and stepped away from him, watching as he rose back to his feet and dusted off the back of his clothes. He stood there for a moment, staring at me with that expressionless face he seems to wear every now and then. I turned away from it, instead looking into that blasted drawer. "So, do you need all of them, or is there a certain one you want?" Silence only greeted my ears. With a frown I turned to look at him, not really wanting to see what was making him so silent all of a sudden.

He still had the expressionless face on, and he was still staring at me. I frowned, ignoring the sort of creepy vibe I was getting from him. Instead I set my jaw and waved my hand in front of his face. "You still in there?" I waved a bit more until he blinked and then scowled at me.

"Stop that," he snapped, and I frowned back at him, feeling more hurt than I should have. Well, what did I expect? For him to laugh at me for waving my hand about his face like a fool? He is still Malfoy after all; regardless of the odd lapses in character he's been having he is still the same old git.

"Fine," I snapped, turning away and focusing on the blueprints again. "Which ones do you want?"

"Top floor and the roof," he replied, his voice back to its usual Malfoyness. There is no other adjective for me to describe it. All I can say is that it sounds a lot colder than the voice he has been using lately, which I hadn't even realized he had been using until now when it went away.

I shook my head slightly as I sorted through the stack of papers and then, finding the ones I needed, pulled them out. I rolled them in my hands and turned around. Malfoy was now scowling at my desk. I scowled back and handed him the prints. "Just make sure you bring them back."

"What do you think I am going to do to them?" he sneered, taking them from my hands and moving towards the door. "Eat them?"

"Well, with your track record I can never know," I sneered back, watching as he opened my door and walked out without another word.

I stared after the closed door. Why does this keep happening to me? Why do I keep being left alone with closed doors and empty rooms? And why is it that my stomach feels so empty all of a sudden? Why do I feel so lonely?

I violently shook my head and slammed the drawer back into the plan chest. It moved as if it was well oiled this time. I scowled at it and made my way back to my desk, where I began to go through everything with renewed vigour. If I focus on all this then there will be no room for me to analyse what the closed doors suddenly mean.

o-o-o

I stormed out of Weasley's office scowling at myself. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have held onto her like that? Why couldn't I let her go as quickly as I should have? Why did her hips have to feel so comfortable in my hands? Why am I even thinking this! She's a Weasley! None of this should be entering my head. None of it. But for some bloody reason it is.

How can this be happening? How can I not get her out of my head? And why did that stupid bloody article have to suddenly put ideas into my head? Ideas about actually kissing her. Well, if I have been accused of the crime I might as well commit it. See, how can this be right? How can I even be _considering_ it? It's just so wrong! So bloody wrong on so many levels.

"Having a lover's spat, Malfoy?" a voice to my left cut through my metal tirade. I snapped my head in that direction and my eyes falling upon Charles Hudson, all five foot six of him. Great, let's just make my already bad day worse. "However do you intend to keep a woman if all you do is fight with them?" He paused, his face warping into a look of malicious amusement. "It's not so different from the way you treat your friends, is it?"

"Seeing as you never were my friend, I don't see how you would know," I sneered back, turning to face him properly. He didn't look much different from the last time I saw him, well, except for the fact that he is wearing clothes now. No, I suppose that wasn't the last time I saw him, but it certainly stands out as being the last time I ever saw him when I had considered him a friend. I don't know how I ever made such a stupid mistake.

"Tsk," he said from the back of his throat, as he had a habit of doing. "All this animosity. Will you ever get over it? It wasn't that big of a deal."

My mouth had the supreme urge to drop open, but I refused to let the git before me see it. Not that big of a deal? How could it not be? How could it be a small deal when my partner goes and sleeps with my fiancé? Things like that certainly seem to me to be a big deal–or at the very least a little deal–to be mentioned with much bitterness. But then, I don't think Charles has ever quite been in a world where other people besides him matter. If you think I am bad, I am nothing compared to him on a good day. On a bad, well, I am sure you can figure it out for yourself.

"Makes me wonder what a big deal is considered to be in your world, Hudson," I snarled, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Oh, there are many things," he replied with a shrug. "But I am not going to stand here and list them. I do actually have a business to run, which I spend a fair amount of time doing. I am sure that is what the difference between our businesses is, Draco; I do the work and you sit there with your girlfriends and bicker. It was always that way." He smirked then. "Though I don't blame you for bickering with this one, she is a fiery one, isn't she?"

"Leave her alone, Hudson," I hissed, surprising myself. I didn't tell him that she wasn't my girlfriend, that I don't bicker with her, or even that I don't want anything to do with her. No, I simply warned him to leave her alone. What do I care if Hudson messes with her? I shouldn't really, but then, I saw her well before Hudson did. Merlin, I did not just think that. What am I ten? How can I call dibs on a woman? Let alone a woman I despise?

"Or what?" he challenged me. "You'll send your mother after me for my job?" He sneered at me then. "Must be a wonderful ego stroke knowing that your own mother won't even hire you to do a job for her." How did I know he was going to bring that up?

"That's none of your business," I practically growled. "Now if you will excuse me, I have work to be done." With out so much as a nod I turned on my heel and stalked off in the other direction.

I could hear his laughter chasing after me, but I ignored it. One of these days he will get his comeuppance. And I hope that day will cause him much suffering, just as much as he has caused me.

It was almost midnight when I finally accomplished what I felt needed to be accomplished. As I had suspected, the support beams Hudson had chosen to use were not adequate for the style of roof that he had chosen to use. It always was one of his faults. I am amazed that he hasn't had one cave in on him yet. It didn't occur to me to check until yesterday, and now I have sent an owl to my mother to make sure things will be adjusted before it is too late.

I walked quickly through the darkened building, save for the lights required for the security guards and cleaning staff, most of which have already gone home. The way my footsteps echoed through the large halls would have made me shiver if they did not remind me so much of Hogwarts when I was on patrol.

You know, it's funny. When I was in school, all I wanted to do was to get out of it, and then when I finally graduated all I wanted to do was stay. Now however, I can't see why I ever wanted to stay. The professors had so much power over us, so much say in what we did. I had begun to realize it in my last few years, but I realise it even more now. I wonder why I am thinking about this.

I rounded a corner and saw the door to Weasley's office. I had planned to just leave the plans leaning against the door, with a few hexes to make sure they stayed there until Weasley could get them in the morning. However, it seems that there is still a light on in her office. I wonder if she forgot to turn it off. I wouldn't put it past her.

As I drew nearer the door I could hear music softly playing from within. Well, maybe she fell asleep then? With a shrug I knocked on the door. There was a pause, in which I heard something crash to the ground, then a "Who is it?" I should have smirked at the nervousness that I heard in her voice, but I couldn't bring myself to do anything of the sort.

"Me," I replied. There was another pause then the door creaked open.

"Oh, it's you," Weasley replied, looking through the crack she had formed between the door and its frame. She looked rather cute, in a ridiculous sort of way. I did not just use that adjective. "What do you want?"

I held up the blue prints, still she did not open the door properly. "Shall I just leave them against the wall then?" I asked raising my eyebrows.

"Don't be stupid," she replied, opening the door all the way. She glanced down the hall then stepped back, letting me into the tiny space she calls an office. I took a few steps in and she looked around once more before closing the door behind me.

"Like you?" I asked, watching as she turned to frown at me. "Expecting someone scary to pay you a visit?"

She scowled at me, but didn't comment. Well, it was a valid question. She was looking about as if she expected an axe wielding murder to come and slip in through the open door. Which is far more neurotic than I ever gave her credit for. But then, she had worn a similar expression when I had left her standing in the fog. Is she really that skittish?

It took me a moment to realize that I was staring at her. With a mental shake of my head I turned my attention to the overly cluttered room only to discover that half the clutter was missing. "It's cleaner," I said before I could stop myself.

"Well, I would hope so," she said, looking around herself. "I have only spent most of the night cleaning it."

Well, she certainly did that. When I first walked in here a few weeks ago I had thought that perhaps Weasley had stupidly led me into some sort of unorganized closet. I had been quite surprised when it turned out to be her office. And then today it seemed to have gotten worse, as though a tornado had torn through it during the time that I hadn't been here. Now, however, I could actually see part of the floor and the tops of the filing cabinets and table. So it seems that she can clean after all, just that she doesn't do it very often.

"Yearly cleaning then?" I asked, running my finger along the surface of her now clutter-free desk. I checked it for dust, but it was thankfully absent.

"Not really," she replied with a shrug, taking the blueprints from my hands and tugging the drawer that they had been in before open. It opened without effort this time, and I felt a jolt of disappointment run through me. Damnit. "I just figured that my replacement wouldn't appreciate such a mess."

"Replacement?" I asked, turning to look at her. Her back was turned to me, and I could see her long legs sticking out of her skirt, a skirt which obscured the top half of them. I wonder how far they go up... I shouldn't be thinking this.

"I'm quitting," she replied with a shrug, not turning around but moving to an open filing cabinet. She began to rifle through what seemed to be files contained within, but didn't look at me. I frowned.

"Why?" It was a simple enough question, though as to why I want to know the answer is beyond me. It was just like my trying to protect her from Hudson, or throwing sticks for her dog, or making sure she got home alright. It's all beyond me, and I am really beginning to wonder if I ever really want to know why. Perhaps a little time away from her would be a good thing, as she suggested. Not that I would ever openly agree with her. You know, when I was younger agreeing with her would have been enough proof that I needed to commit suicide.

She didn't reply right away, which left me time to watch her. Her movements were choppy, as though she isn't comfortable with being watched while she works, or she just isn't comfortable with me standing behind her while she works. I don't know why that thought makes me feel uncomfortable as well. But it was then that I noticed that her hands were shaking slightly, as though what was going through her head was anything but pleasant. I resisted the urge to go towards her. After all, what would I do when I got there? Give her a hug? Ridiculous. What is wrong with me?

"If you really want to know," she said after a moment, turning to face me. "I am sick of wasting my life."

"Wasting your life?" I repeated stupidly. "How are you wasting your life?"

"Do you see any of my paintings hanging on any of the walls in this blasted building?" she asked, her hands falling from the cabinet to rest at her sides. "Of course you don't. All you see are the new artists whom I have discovered, but I haven't had the time to discover myself." She shrugged again. "So I'm quitting."

I remained silent at that and watched her. Funny how I went in search of myself as soon as I left school and yet she is just starting that search now. Or maybe she thought she had discovered herself, and then things changed. I don't know which thought is more disturbing. She was staring back at me, those brown eyes of hers alight from the candles in the room. They weren't sparkling as they had in the sun, but there was still something attractive about them. I looked away.

"I bet you didn't realize you had to clean this dump before you handed in your resignation, did you?" I asked, a small smirk pulling at my lips. Well, I think I would think twice about quitting if I knew this was one of the obstacles I had to overcome before I did it.

I heard her snort softly before she said, "No, I didn't." I turned and looked at her to find her watching me now. "The bickering is gone again," she said simply. I nodded. It's odd how this keeps happening. We should be fighting all the time, not on and off as we keep doing lately.

"Must be the fact that we are an item then," I replied with a smirk. "It's not until we get married that we are allowed to duke it out."

"That must be it," she replied with a nod. "Do you still not have any idea who took that photograph?"

I shook my head. No, as hard as I have tried over the past few days I have come no closer to finding out who took it, let alone who's hair brain idea it had been to write that article. I have no doubt as to why it was published, seeing as it is me and the Minister for Magic's daughter. I suppose the fact that she is a Weasley and I am a Malfoy comes into the appeal as well, but still, it's no reason to be writing crap like that. Though I think the more disturbing part is that someone had to be there with us to take the photograph. I hadn't seen anyone.

"It's fishy," she continued. "I mean, we're not that interesting. We weren't even arguing that time. Nothing interesting to listen to. Like now." She glanced out the open window. "You don't think that they are out there right now, do you? Watching us, waiting to take more incriminating photos to try and ruin both our lives?" She shuddered, and I felt inclined to agree. It was a scary thought.

"Was that who you were looking for in the hall?" I asked, glancing back at the door.

She only shrugged in response to that and closed the cabinet in front of her. "Well, I think I have had more than enough of this for one night." She dusted her hands together as if to get off the dirt, and then ran her hands through her hair, causing bits of gold to catch in the candlelight. She then got her cloak from the coat rack beside me. My eyes followed her the whole time. I couldn't seem to take them off of her. She opened the door and turned to look at me.

"Well, you don't plan on sleeping in here, do you Malfoy?" she asked, holding onto the doorknob, wand in hand, presumably to turn out the lights. I stared at her for a moment, taking in the way the light cast half her face in shadows.

How much about this woman do I not know about? How much do I want to learn? If I was sane, as I am beginning to realize that I am not, I would say not a thing. She is a Weasley after all. But for some reason I have this desire deep inside me to figure her out. Figure out why she is scared of being alone, why she is so unstable, why she wakes up to paintings. Truly, what is wrong with me?

"Of course not," I replied, shaking my head. More for the sake of clearing my head then to reassure her. With that I stepped out of the room, joining her in darkness.

o-o-o

**Works Cited:**

o- "This is certainly worthy of my attention." – Jean Luc Picard, _Star Trek: First Contact_. I just love how snarky he was in that movie. So many things I randomly say are from it. Lol. Not that I am or ever was a Trekkie... Me? No, never...

o- Newspaper bit is from a movie, but I will not say which lest I ruin something for someone. Lol.

o-o-o

A/N: Well, they didn't seem to fight enough with each other this chapter. Well, I will just have to remedy that in the next chapter, and I think I have a devilishly wonderful way to do it. Hee Hee. Well, it is necessary for it to happen, I am not that sadistic. Or am I...? Anyhoo, what did you think?

Many thanks to: **Toes of the Tickled Kind, twinkletoes22, yuiyui, lol omg**(hee hee. I take it you go to the UofA then?)**, kjata, dracolovesginny**(Me? Make people wait? Never...)**, Erised**(Really? I thought there was more melodrama in this one, but I'm glad there's not)**, tulzdavampslayer**(But chocolate is bad for puppies...:D)**, wisperinglilies**(Depends on what you define as action...lol)and **wounded-angle**(I am so sick of the carnal bit, they are supposed to hate each other. And besides, bickering is much more fun to write :D Glad you enjoy)


	6. Just a Girl

:LastSaved 2006-01-12T01:16:00Z Clean Clean MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 706 198 99402 10.2625 Clean Clean MicrosoftInternetExplorer4

Title: Painting an Oyster

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one legged lesbian seagull hotmail com (Please add 3 underscores, one "at" sign, and a period)

A/N: Man, this chapter just wouldn't get out. It's where I stalled the first time, and this attempt was no better. I mean, Zach was dangling Ginny over the balcony and Draco was turning into a Marxist. Gah. So, you will have to believe me when I say it took a bit more effort than it was worth. And I am still not happy with it. Not at all. Gah again. But I suppose all that was my poor attempt to explain why I haven't updated it in a while. Hopefully the next few chapters after won't be like pulling teeth. ... As I break down and cry.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am poor. I need a job. Employ me?

**Painting an Oyster**

**Chapter 6**

**Just a Girl**

o-o-o

Soundtrack: "Just a Girl" by No Doubt

o-o-o

"What do you mean you are going on a trip on Saturday?" I asked, turning away from the fireplace to look at the blond across the table from me. He casually sipped at his beer as though he hadn't just told me something that was totally bogus. "When did you decide on this?" I paused and thought about the rest he had just said. "And isn't this a little too soon in the relationship?"

"I mean that I am going to got to a Portkey Hub on Saturday and go on a trip," he replied, cocking his head slightly to the side. "I found out yesterday, and it probably is."

I frowned at him. "But it's Thursday." Well, that didn't sound stupid at all.

"Yes it is," he said, nodding his head as if to encourage me. Encourage me to do what though, is beyond me.

"Oh," was all I could say to that, and I looked away again.

I always find it difficult to pay attention to anyone or anything in this place, save Quidditch. Well, you would be in the same boat if you were me, with all this art and oddly placed items and memorabilia about. It would give you a headache just trying to figure out the rationalization behind all the objects and their positions. And this place, of course, is St. Augh's Pub, the best place in London to watch any Quidditch game.

Zach and I haven't come here in a long time for a game, mainly because he has a screen in his own bar, where we usually congregate with a bunch of other Quidditch fanatics that we know. But for some reason he convinced me that here was where we had to watch the game today, and that it would be just like old times. Yah, old times with an immanent trip in the future that is probably going to break my poor Zach's heart.

"Oh indeed." There was an edge to his voice that forced my eyes back to him; he was watching me with an impassive face that eerily reminded me of Malfoy.

"So where are you going on this very last minute trip of yours then?" I asked after a few more minutes of looking around. I think that should be enough looking for now. Yet that ferret tapestry over there is rather intriguing. But I shouldn't be looking at that, I should be trying to convince Zach about what a horrible idea this trip is. Or should I? He's a big boy, isn't he? He should be able to make his own decisions.

His own decisions that are usually no better than mine when it comes to relationships. He might walk around and claim to be the relationship guru, but Zach can never keep any partner for much longer than a month or two. I think the longest relationship was eight months, but that was more because the man's mother had died, and Zach didn't want to dump him for fear he would go suicidal, or so he claimed. So I am sure you can understand why I would be a little worried about this trip, even if I seem to be easily distracted at the moment.

This new guy though, Simon Williams, seems to have caught Zach's interest more than any of the others, I must admit. He's been doing a lot with him, and talking about him constantly, which is something new. He doesn't usually tell me much about his partners, other than the carnal details, which I really don't want to hear. I think the part that tipped me off was when he referred to him as his "boyfriend" and not his "partner" as he always does. So I suppose I can understand why he would agree to go, but I can't see it doing anything but causing him pain in the end. He likes this guy, and taking a spur of the moment trip, after only dating for a few weeks, isn't going to keep the appeal. Or at least, it doesn't seem to in my experience, but I am certainly not getting into that.

"Mexico," Zach said, once again drawing me back to him. "Which is good, I suppose. I have always wanted to see what the appeal of the place is."

I stared at him for a moment, taking in his perfectly chosen clothes, and artistically mussed hair. The crisp lines and angles of his face, that are no where near as sharp as Malfoy's. Why am I comparing my bestest friend to Malfoy? He should not be entering my mind at all. Not at all. The bloody git. Two nights ago he walked me home again. Not all the way home, mind, but to the lobby of my building. And for some reason we kept that creepy peace going the entire way. That is really starting to worry me. I should not be getting along with the people I hate. It might make things difficult. Difficult like this trip.

"And how is it that Simon got these last minute tickets to Mexico?" I asked. Well, it is a valid question. Perhaps the man in a drug dealer or something, and this trip will drag Zach into the game and I will never see him again. Bloody hell, I sound like Ron.

"His father owns a resort over there," Zach said, taking a drink of his beer. "Apparently he wanted to see him and sent two tickets, for him and a friend."

"And you are the friend I take it?" I stated, once again voicing the obvious. Sometimes I wish I never figured out how to voice the thoughts and questions in my head.

"You take it right," he said with a slight smirk. I narrowed my eyes at him and took a sip of my caramel frapachino. One of the definite bonuses of this pub: their specialty coffees and cakes. I think they are truly under selling themselves by calling this place a pub. Oh well. Not my business.

"I've already made you a list of all the numbers and such that you might need if you need to get a hold of me," he began, taking on an air of seriousness, the smirk slipping away. "Though I would prefer if you didn't, unless you are dying, seeing as no one else is getting them and I want it to stay that way."

"What about the bar?" I asked, wondering about it since he hadn't mentioned it at all yet.

"Peter can take care of it," he said, looking past me for a moment and narrowing his eyes. "He's left me on more than one occasion this year with a spur of the moment trip." Which is true. I don't really like Charles, mainly because of all that. He's so inconsiderate sometimes, and it hurts the business. I don't know why Zach even bothered going into a partnership with him, but then, I am sure he had his reasons. "All you need to do is water my planets."

"Mh-wah!" I demanded, snapping my attention right back to him, eyes wide. "Oh no, there is no way in hell that that is happening."

Zach's plants are killers, seriously. They are always trying to get me when ever I go near them. I make a point of avoiding them; it makes me feel like my life is a little bit safer if I do. I hate when I have to water them. Why can't the bloody things just water themselves? They seem intelligent enough, seeing as they are always finding new ways to get at me.

"Yes there is," he said firmly, looking at me with narrowed eyes now. "Because if I come back and they are dead, you're going to be finding you are one furry friend short."

I glared at him. Sometimes I think he got those horrible things just so that I could get a taste of his dislike for Sneazel. Or that he trained them to hate me specifically. They seem to like him just fine.

"No there's not," I replied stubbornly. I know I am going to lose this battle, as I always do. I know that he doesn't have anyone else to water them for him, seeing as his mum is in another part of the country. And I have been thinking about a way that I can water them without having to go near them. Not that I sit about plotting this kind of stuff on a daily basis, because that would just be weird.

"Yes, there is," he snapped, once again glaring past me to something beyond me before focusing in on my face again. "Stop being such a child for once, and just do me a favour."

I felt my eyes grow wide. Well, that was a little uncalled for, not to mention unexpected after all that smirking a moment ago. I am getting the feeling that something is up, that there is more to this trip than meets the eyes, and it's making him cranky and nostalgic all of a sudden.

"I'm not being a child," I snapped back, narrowing my widened eyes. "If anyone is acting childish it's you, blaming what ever insecurities, which you have suddenly remembered, on me."

You know, it's a little odd. Ever since the fight where I threw the apple at him things have been a little dicey. We're fighting a bit more than usual. Ok, a bit is an understatement, as it seems rare to be able to see each other without bitching about something. It's getting rather annoying. Perhaps this trip isn't such a bad idea after all. Time apart might do us a lot of good.

"I am not blaming you for anything other than your idiotic refusal to water my plants," he said, taking another sip from his beer before putting it down on the table with a loud thunk.

"There is wrong, there has been since the apple incident," I hissed, narrowing my eyes as well. I know this is not the time to bring this up, but it is where it all started. "And it has absolutely nothing to do with your bloody carnivorous plants."

"You're right, it doesn't," he hissed back, glaring at me again. I glared back, suddenly feeling like I don't know the man sitting before any more, that something has changed. But what has changed? Well, other than the fact that we can no longer seem to get along properly. And it all seemed to start when Malfoy showed up in my life. Why is he coming back into this!

Zach remained silent for a long moment, simply glaring at me as though he wanted to lunge across the table and attack me with his bare hands. I thought for a moment that he actually would try it, though I don't know what it will get him in the end. He eventually let out a deep sigh though and dropped his eyes. I frowned at that and watched him as the tension in his shoulders suddenly drained out. I tried to see his eyes, but his blond hair made them difficult to see. See, I told you something was wrong. Very wrong, apparently.

"I like him Gin," he finally said in a small voice. His head was still down and I had to lean in close to hear him properly.

"What?" I asked for clarification, just in case I heard him wrong. He doesn't usually volunteer answers this easily, and I don't want to be blotching it up because I heard him wrong.

"I like him," he repeated, his voice a touch louder. I guess I did hear him right then. I leant back slightly, trying to see his eyes, but his hair was still obscuring them.

"So what's the problem then?" I asked, taking in his slumping shoulders. He looks so depressed, and I am torn between going over there and giving him a hug or letting him remain strongly male in public.

"No, I _really_ like him," he said in a voice that had a touch of panic in it. I paused. He couldn't mean-?

"You mean as in..." I began, my words trailing off in case I said the wrong thing and make his voluntary openness close up as it usually is.

"Yes," he replied simply. He lifted his head up, his blue eyes deadly serious. I blinked.

"Oh," I replied, suddenly at a loss for words. In all the time that I have known Zach, he has never been one to have fantasies of settling down. He has never once mentioned that he would even like to settle down. Which is a little funny, now that I think about it, since he is suddenly set on seeing me settled down. Perhaps this is where it is coming from then, but then what is the problem? "Well that's good then, isn't it?"

"No it's not," he said, his eyes hardening slightly. He reached out and grabbed his drink then, taking a large gulp of it. When he put it down the glass, which had been nearly full, was almost empty. I stared at it.

"Why not?" I asked, looking away from his glass and back to him.

"Because it won't work out," he said simply, causing me to frown.

"What? Why?" I demanded. Why won't it work out? Maybe this guy is still in the frivolous mind frame and doesn't see Zach as anything more than temporary? Then I know it won't work out. "Does he feel the same way?"

"He does," Zach replied, his eyes shifting from me to something behind me again. His eyes stayed there for a bit, then shifted back to me. I gave him a confused look.

"Well if he does then why won't it work out?" I asked, honestly not being able to figure it out. If both parties are willing, then it should work, or at least in theory it should. I know there are a lot more things to it, like people's interests, habits, lifestyles, ideologies, and so on, but I think if two people are willing to fight to be together then there should be no problem. Why doesn't Zach want to fight?

"Because I don't know what to do," he snapped at me, his eyes snapping back to mine as well. He looked so angry and frustrated all of a sudden. "I know what to do to get a guy, but I don't know what to do to keep one. It has never really mattered to me all that much. If something went wrong there was always someone else to take their place. But now with Simon it is all different. I know that if I lose him I will never find someone else to replace him. I don't want that to happen."

"So you're not even going to try?" I asked, appalled. Was this still my friend Zach? The one who is complaining to me that I will never find a guy? And yet here he has one of his own and he's not even willing to try? What has happened to my actual bestest friend? Where have they taken him? He should be fighting tooth and nail for this bloke, if he really is the one, just like he does for everything else in his life.

"Of course I am going to try," he hissed, glaring at me, causing me to frown more.

"Then what is the problem?" I repeated.

"The problem is that it is not going to work out," he snapped, grabbing his drink again and finishing it.

I frowned at him, not liking his sudden animosity. I can understand that he's stressed out and obviously distressed, but that is no reason to take it out on me. Oh listen to my hypocrisy. I just don't like it when people put their problems on me, but everyone else is allowed to take mine. What a horrible person I am.

"Well if you think that it's not going to work out than why are you even bothering to try?" I snapped back. "You know, that's pretty rich of you, acting all high and mighty about my relationships, then when it comes to your own you aren't even willing to fight. If you sit here and say it is not going to work out before you even try then it is damn well not going to work out at all. So don't even bother trying if you are so set on failure, otherwise you are just going to hurt the both of you." I glared at him. "If you are going to give it a chance then do it with the goal of succeeding, not failing."

"What the hell do you know?" he growled at me, and I looked at him in surprise, suddenly realizing how this discussion is going. How did we get to be so vicious? I should be trying to help Zach, not bring him down. "You're the one who never gives anyone a chance. I have at least been dating Simon for the last twenty three days. And how many have you and Malfoy been at it for? Zero. So don't talk to me about giving people a chance."

"We aren't talking about me and Malfoy," I snarled, keeping my voice low. People are beginning to stare. "We are talking about you and Simon." I pointed my finger at him. "And if you know exactly how many days you have been together, then I know that you want this more than a lot of other stuff you have complained to me about over the years." He now frowned at me. "If you didn't think this could possibly happen you would have been out of the relationship already; I know you too well Zach, and you do think this can happen. You're just scared that you will fall on your face."

"Of course I'm scared," he snapped at me, the anger that was in his face moments before slipping slightly. "Who in their sane mind wouldn't be? I've just found the one person I want to spend the rest of my life with after years of meaningless relationships. How could I not be scared? What happens if I am the one that screws up and he won't take me back? Or worse yet, what if he screws up and I can't bring myself to let him back in?" His anger was slipping fast now. "What if I am left all alone again?"

"You won't be," I replied, reaching across the table and grabbing his hand. He stared down on it then gripped it back. "You're the type of person that people gravitate towards, so there is no way you could ever be alone. And even if this doesn't work out, I know you will find someone else. There would have to be something horribly wrong with the universe if you couldn't."

He stared at me for a moment, and I thought that he was going to start yelling again. All I want is for him to be happy, and I hope he knows that. He always tries so hard to make sure I am alright, and I try to do it for him as well, but my methods never seem to be that obvious. I always feel like I am the selfish one, taking everything I can from him, while he just gives it all. I don't want him to be unhappy and think that I don't care, because I do.

"I don't want anyone else," he finally said, shaking his head. He looked slightly childish like that, so unlike the Zach I know. Which makes me wonder, is this a new side of Zach, or have I just never gotten to know all of him as I think I have; that this is just a new side to him I have yet to encounter?

"Well, then," I said slowly, watching him. He watched me back, then his eyes drifted past me again. This bloody place with all its things to look at.

"I know," he finally said, a small smile gracing his lips. "And I know I am being a little kid about all this, and I am sorry for taking it out on you."

"So are you still going to go to Mexico then?" I asked, knowing that he had never voiced a desire not to go. I have a feeling he didn't though. "I hear it's quite a wonderful place to sit on the beaches."

"Yes, I'm going," he replied, frowning again. "And I am not going to let my doubts make it into anything more than an excuse to be around Simon."

"Good," I replied, nodding my head and smiling back at him. Well, this isn't turning out like one of those bad Muggle sitcoms, now is it?

"You know, sometimes I forget how insufferably idealistic you can be," he replied, giving my hand a squeeze before he released it. "You sound like the whole world can work out if we all just put our hearts into it." Well, can't it? I think it would be a very scary place if it couldn't. But I didn't tell him that, I don't usually tell anyone that.

"Yah well, you didn't sound so pessimistic at the end of all this either, buddy," I replied, frowning at him with a fake frown. He just gave me a dirty look and flagged the waiter over. I glanced over at the huge screen that will soon be hosting the Quidditch game. "So, what are you willing to bet that the Wasps loose?"

o-o-o

It was on Thursday that I found myself following Blaise into a pub called St. Augh's. I don't usually come here often, for I find the décor is a little too in your face, but Blaise likes it, and since Blaise invited me to the Quidditch game I couldn't very well complain. Well, I could, but then I don't think he would be too inclined to invite me again, and that would be a shame. He has season tickets for Wimbourne Wasps you see, and when he doesn't give them away at work he invites me along. Today's game is against the Appleby Arrows, which is great because the two teams have a rivalry that almost surpasses Potter's and mine.

So why are we going to a pub then if we are going to the game? Well, Blaise hates eating in the pub that is in the stadium, especially when the Arrows are playing. He claims there is only so much fantard stupidity he can handle during the game, and he doesn't want to have to put up with it before hand as well. So he comes here instead. By the looks of the place I can't say that I see much difference between the two.

"Well, this place is cozy," I commented dryly as we sat down beside a large white screen that had been set up against the western wall. I looked around at the over abundance of romantic art and odd artefacts that just didn't go together. "I can tell why you like to come here."

"Shut your mouth, Malfoy," Blaise responded, reaching for a menu from the center of the table. "It's not the decorations that matter in this place, it's the food." He winked at me. "And the red heads."

"Red heads?" I asked, looking at him with curiosity. If he is thinking that I have a thing for red heads then he can very well go shove himself. I didn't ask for that article to be published, and I certainly didn't ask for Weasley to be popping up all over the place.

"Aye, like the one over there," he said, tipping his head to his right. I turned to my left and felt my eyes grow wide despite myself. It couldn't be, it shouldn't be, but it is. Bloody Weasley. Why does she have to show up everywhere? And why am I not as disturbed by this as I should be?

"Why is she everywhere I am?" I hissed, glaring at the red head but addressing Blaise. She has her hair up again, exposing that neck of hers, and her back, seeing as her top doesn't seem to have one. Funny, it looks like she has a tattoo or something on her shoulder blade. But the littlest Weasley wouldn't do such a thing, would she? "Is there any escape from her?"

"Doesn't seem like it. Perhaps you two are destined to be," Blaise said, and I could just hear the smirk in his voice. I snapped my head towards him to fast I heard my neck crack.

"Don't you ever say that again," I hissed at him, only to see him smirk in return. I narrowed my eyes then glanced back at Weasley to find her non-boyfriend watching me. I stared back at him, taking in the way his eyes narrowed like the last time. His eyes focused in on Weasley again and opened his mouth, but after she didn't turn around to stare at me, and her ears did not turn red, I realized that he wasn't going to tell her that I was sitting here. But why wouldn't he?

"Seems like you have some competition though, eh Mate?" Blaise continued. I glanced at him to see that he was idly flipping through the menu. I glared at him.

"He's a bummer," I said flatly, glancing over once more to see him paying attention to what Weasley was saying.

"Oh, so you're chasing after a fag hag then," Blaise drawled, glancing up from his menu to smirk at me once more. "That could cause even bigger problems." He glanced over at the other table then back to me. "Or not, she does seem to have a thing for blonds at least."

"Will you shut up?" I demanded, grabbing my own menu and slapping it down on the table in front of me. I refused to look back at the other table and Weasley's back, despite the fact that I could feel her non-boyfriend staring at me again. "We're never going to happen. Ever. I would rather kill myself than end up with her."

"Right," Blaise said, nodding his head in what he probably thought looked like understanding. I glared at him once more. "Hey," he said, raising his hands, his tone going back to normal, "if I can't bug you who can?"

"No one," I replied, though in my mind I could hear Weasley bugging me. Blast woman, get out of my head!

The waitress came shortly after that and took our drink orders. I ended up getting some odd type of coffee, which Blaise assured me tasted good. I figure there is no telling how long this game will go on for, and some coffee might mean the difference of seeing the end with attentiveness or lethargy.

"So, how's your wee little Quidditch team going? I don't think you have mentioned it in a while," Blaise said when our drinks had arrived and we had placed our orders for food. I looked at him and sighed. I told you he calls it that.

"Well, there hasn't really been much going on," I replied with a shrug. "So there hasn't been much to tell. We have a practice on Saturday though, so I'll find out more about what's going on then."

"Fair enough," he replied, taking a sip of his long island ice tea.

"And how are things in the firm going?" I asked, smirking a little. "You haven't mentioned that in a while either."

Blaise simply glared at me and gave me the finger. He's a lawyer by day, drummer by night. I am assuming that by his reaction you can tell which career he prefers. He works in family law, and is actually far more interested in children than I ever gave him credit for. I never realized he even liked kids until he started to complain to me about all the horrible things that they have to go through when their parents divorce. I think that the only reason he hasn't changed professions yet is that he doesn't think anyone else is competent enough to take over his job of making them the priority.

"And for good reason," he said darkly, glancing around. "Did you hear about that protest yesterday, the one in entrance hall of the Ministry?" he asked, changing the subject. I would have smirked if I wasn't actually curious as to what he's talking about.

"No," I replied with a shrug. "I didn't get a chance to read the paper yesterday. What was it about?" It must be something good, for Blaise doesn't usually bring up anything political. He prefers to stay neutral on those types of matters; his whole family does, actually.

"A bunch of people dressed in Muggle clothing were demanding political reform," he said with a shake of his head. "They claim that our government is not democratic enough and that Weasley has too much power."

"Not democratic enough?" I asked incredulously. "And Weasley certainly does not have too much power, things were changed after that whole business with Fudge, remember?"

"Oh, I remember, but they apparently don't think so," Blaise replied wryly. "They claim that he no longer represents the majority, and that he should not be allowed to be in power for as long as he has been. Some of their signs were saying that he is a tyrant."

"How can he be a tyrant when people keep voting him back into power?" I asked, shaking my head. "If that isn't a majority, then the minority should get off their asses and vote when it comes time to." Not that they don't. We usually have a pretty good voter turn out, usually over seventy percent, which is apparently pretty high from what I hear.

"I know," Blaise agreed. "But they want him to have a set term, like what the Muggles have in the States. They want him to only have so much time in power then to step down and let someone else come in."

I frowned at that. "If we do that, then whom ever is in power will be able to take more chances and go against what people want more easily is he knows that he doesn't have to win the next election." Blaise simply raised his eyebrows as if to agree with me. "We lose an aspect of the responsibility that he has to the voters then, for there will be a time period where he won't care if they piss people off."

"They seemed to think that it would ensure that no one would be able to worm their way into permanent power though." He shrugged again. "But I suppose we'll just have to wait and see what comes of it. The editorials today were both for and against the idea, so this could get interesting if they make a point of keeping in the press, which I have a feeling they will."

Just what we need. We are finally getting this world back together after the last person who didn't agree with what was going on, and they are trying to knock it all down again. Sometimes I wonder how it is possible that our civilisation has existed for as long as it has. We build ourselves up just so we can knock ourselves over and have to start all over again. I suppose it's an easy way to bring about change, but there must be an easier way to do it.

"Interesting like you and this mystery girl you have yet to tell me about?" I asked, changing the subject now. He frowned at me. And I am of course referring to the mystery girl who he has oddly enough begun to date and spend time with. He hasn't told me much about her, other than he really likes her. She must be really something if she can keep his interest, though as to why he won't tell me about her is beyond me.

"I've told you before," Blaise said, his voice had an edge to it. "I will tell you about her when I am ready."

I frowned at him. I honestly have no idea why he is not willing to tell me about this woman who has captured him so completely. I'm his best friend. And I mean, it's not like he's dating some hag or something, or worse yet, Loony Lovegood, so what's the big deal then? It's not like I will disrupt anything by knowing who he's dating. Oh well, at least this gives me a way to bug him as he seems to take malicious pleasure in doing to me and Weasley.

With her in mind I glanced over at her table quickly to see her hands flailing, something I have noticed that she does when she gets excited when she is talking. Not that I pay that much attention to her. I could almost hear what she was saying, though I don't want to know what got her so worked up this time. That woman seems to be so on edge that anything can set her off. Not that I care, she's not my problem.

"I don't see why you just can't tell me," I nettled, leaning back as the waitress brought our meals. "It's not like-"

"FUCK YOU JANGA!" someone screamed, cutting my sentence off. Silence rang around the pub. The waitress glared over at a table behind us, and the two of us looked as well. There were little bits of wood all over the table, and the patrons sitting at it seemed to be glaring at them. I frowned in confusion. What on earth is a janga?

"Honestly," the waitress hissed and headed back to the bar. I watched her walk away but couldn't seem to find any interest in her. She was attractive, but my eyes slid over to Weasley instead, where they settled on her rear end. I think I need to gouge my eyes out soon.

"Well, that was interesting," I said slowly, turning my eyes back to Blaise, who was now watching me.

"Aye," he replied evenly. He glanced at the other table again then turned back to me. "Good thing the food's here then. Brings us one step closer to leaving."

I nodded my head, and we began our meal. I have to give Blaise one thing about this place though: the food is fantastic. I don't know what they do to it, but there is just something about it that leaves you wanting more. Probably put some sort of addictive substance in it to make you crave it.

After the food was all eaten, and I do mean all of it, we headed off to the game, and what a game it was. I sometimes think I was insane to ever think that the games at Hogwarts were near as entertaining as the national league. There is just something extra to these games that is absent in armature Quidditch. Perhaps it's the fact that they have the sound of the hits and the goal amplified, but I'm not sure. Either way, I prefer professional way more. But playing it is still by far the best part, but when you don't have the option...

Work today was even more exciting than the game, however, and how couldn't it be with my quest for decent employees continuing to persist? I am finding it extremely difficult to find draftsmen with any decent amount of experience, or even a grasp of reality. I might think that Charles and the others in the industry seem to be sucking them all up, leaving me with none, if I didn't know that they are all having the same problems. It seems that there is just a lack all over, which I can't quite understand since the there is such a demand for new Wizarding infrastructure. If I don't find people soon the amount of extra work that I have had to be dealing with is only going to increase. And that is only the beginning of my problems, but I won't bore you with those, yet. There is another one at the moment that is more immediate.

"Remind me again why I agreed to accompany you, mother?" I asked with a sigh, holding onto my mother's arm as a good son should. We were walking down the street, the sun setting behind us.

"Because you had no plans for tonight, and I was gracious enough to invite you into mine," she replied with a wicked smile from under her perfectly done hair. She had insisted that we both had to dress up for this event. First we are to go to the art gallery and take some new tour she wants to see, then out to dinner at one of her favourite overpriced restaurants.

"And how generous of you it was," I replied dryly, looking around as we began up the stairs to the entrance of the gallery. There were a few people milling about outside as well, all of whom were dressed up in what was probably some of their finest. I mentally shook my head. Don't people have anything better to do on a Friday night? Apparently not. And I probably should not be saying anything, since it was my mother who had thought it a wonderful idea to make Friday nights more classy by forcing everyone to dress up for when they walked around inside. "Remind me to never tell you that I don't have plans ever again."

"My, you are grumpy tonight, aren't you?" she shot back at me, squeezing my arm as we walked through the doors. We got waved past the ticket booth and continued inward. "Did you not get enough sleep last night dear? Perhaps you should take a bit of a vacation. You have been doing an awful lot of work lately." I turned and glared at her, only to find her smirking back at me. Oh how I hate when she turns my own ploys against me.

"No mother, I think I am just fine," I said as evenly as I could. My eye caught a man walking about with a tray of drinks and I grabbed one. I offered it to my mother but she shook her head no and I kept it for myself. Well, if they serve alcohol then perhaps this whole dressing up ordeal isn't that bad. "When is this tour supposed to start?"

She looked down on the small sliver watch she had strapped to her slim wrist. "In a few minutes." I watched as she looked around. "It seems the group is right over there." She began to lead me over to a small group of fancily dressed people, all standing about and listening to the tour guide speak. I let my eyes travel over the group until something clicked in my brain and my eyes shot back towards the tour guide. Could this night get anymore horrid?

"Weasley?" I asked aloud before I could stop myself. So, not only did I have to see her last night, but I have to put up with her this night as well? This is getting past the point of coincidence, but I don't know who to kill, for whom ever is in charge of al this is staying suspiciously inconspicuous.

Despite my irritation at her presence, I couldn't seem to take my eyes off of her though. Her hair was swept up away from her face and tide up in some sort of knot at the base of her skull, exposing that elegant neck of hers again. Around it was clasped a simple gold chain, which let my eyes travel down to her collarbones, which stood out just enough to be noticed, but not enough to scream malnourishment. As my eyes traveled down further I came across the simple black dress that she was wearing, and let me tell you, it is doing all the wrong things to me in all the right places.

"She does look quite lovely when she tries, doesn't she?" my mother asked, and I turned away from the blasted red head before me to find my mother watching me. She smiled slightly then turned her eyes back towards our apparent guide for the evening. I felt my stomach sink as I realized that she had seen me checking out Weasley. "A pity she is leaving though; having the Minister's daughter as an employee did give us an extra edge."

"Like you need it," I said, clearing my throat, my eyes drifting back to Weasley of their own accord. She was talking to the group gathered in front of her, her cheeks pleasantly pink, her eyes twinkling in the candlelight. Why must they always twinkle? And why can't I get myself to look away from her? This is _Weasley_ I am ogling!

"-exactly why some of the American states are trying to ban that pigment," she was saying to one of the people at the front of the group. "Rather ridiculous but true." A few of the people nodded, and she looked up and around at the group before her. Her eyes passed over my mother and I and I felt a pang of disappointment, which I don't really want to think about, when her eyes did not settle on me. Why do I want to get Weasley's attention?

It took only a moment, however, for her eyes to dart back to me, where they widened slightly. She glanced at my mother then back at me. Her smile seemed to droop slightly and I couldn't help but smirk back at her, feeling suddenly triumphant. Perhaps tonight will not be as huge a waste of time as I initially thought; if just by being here I am making her life hell as she always makes mine when she shows up where she is not supposed to, then it just might be worth it. Her eyes narrowed slightly, almost as if she was reading my thoughts, then turned her attention back to the rest of the group.

"Well, I think that we have waited long enough, let's get this underway, shall we?" she asked, addressing the group before her. She looked cool and collected as she looked around at the group. For some reason I had the desire to make her squirm. "Please, don't hesitate to ask me any questions."

The group shuffled forward, and I looked around as we went, still holding onto my mother's arm. The entrance hall, as usual, was filled with statues that you could catch moving if you looked hard enough. I have never really understood why people would want to make sculptures that could move, yet convince them not to. If I ever became a sculpture, which I never will, I would make it so that they stood still until you got too close then they would grab you and not let go until you answered a riddle or something.

"And this is a selection of work that we have recently acquired," Weasley's voice drifted into my head, disrupting my oddly demented thoughts. I looked around and realized that we had moved into another room which had images covering the walls, and glass cases scattered through the middle. I glanced at my mother to find her looking at the art hanging on the walls. "By a wonderful woman named Sylvia Moon." Weasley had stepped to the side of a selection of work, bringing the rest of us to a stop as well.

"As you can see, she enjoys using many different mediums which allow her to have a line weight that few can get away with," she explained, gesturing towards a several paintings and prints which were covered in lines. People were in the pictures, staring out at me with pupilless eyes, their bodies disjointed in ways which seemed normal in the image, but not physically possible in our own. "She mainly uses acrylic paint and India inks in her works. But as you can see with these here, she has used lithograph and simple drawing pens as well."

"The detail is amazing," a woman at the front said quietly, looking with rapture at the images. "I have never seen clothing folds like those." I looked closer myself to see that all articles of clothing looked to be made of double the amount of fabric necessary, causing every spot of clothing to be covered in meticulously placed folds. I looked to my mother, who was smiling faintly at the images, then at the rest of the group. There seemed to be some indecision as to how to accept the work.

I glanced back at the images, and frowned slightly. For all the fold and detail work, the disjointedness of the bodies bothers me. I am used to working with spaces that can look like they don't belong, but are physically possible, but these images do not fit into that category. Did the woman simply not look close enough at her subjects and made mistakes, or did she mean to make them look this way? Or maybe that is just the way people look in her head. Why do I even care?

"Does this woman realize that her people look so unnatural?" I asked Weasley, surprising myself. She turned and looked at me, surprise on her face as well. Obviously she wasn't used to people actually asking questions. Or was it just the fact that I had asked the question? I am not even sure why I voiced it myself, but I can't take it back now. I waited for her reply.

"Uh," she replied, looking away from me and to the images themselves. She paused for a moment as if she was thinking quickly, then turned back to me. Interesting, she doesn't know the answer off hand. Shouldn't she? "I am actually not quite sure. It never came up in our discussions about her work." She paused again.

"You would think that with all the detail in the clothing that she would put just as much work into the figures themselves," the same woman at the front said, looking at the work as well. Weasley nodded along. She really didn't know. Something shot through me that I hadn't felt since the two of us were back in school and I nearly smirked with anticipation.

"So what are her influences then?" I asked, the smirk threatening to break through. She turned back to me, a red tinge beginning to form on her cheeks.

"She is highly inspired by advertisements and the Muggle cinema world," Weasley replied, once again glancing at the work. She pointed to an image that was broken down into shadows. "As you can see with this image of a Muggle actor named Jude Law."

"But why would she have use Muggle influences?" I asked, looking toward the work. None of it is moving, now that I look at it again. People in the group turned to look at me, but I ignored them. I have a right to ask.

"Because she is a Muggle," Weasley replied, her face going a touch redder and her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. She can't actually look angry at me, she has a tour to give, and for some reason I find the thought of that immensely entertaining, though I cannot figure out why.

"You never told us she was Muggle," I informed her. Her eyes began to narrow, but then she seemed to get a hold of herself before she did anything she would regret. Her boss, after all, was holding onto my arm.

"No, I did not," she replied, her voice a little strained. "But I did say, before we looked at her work that we were entering our Muggle section. All of the artists in this area are Muggle." There was a glint of superiority in her eyes when she said that and I frowned at her. Ok, so she won this round. Why am I even considering this a round? This should not be happening. "Are there any more questions before we move on?" She looked around then her eyes settled on me, as if to challenge me to say something else. "No?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but my mother cleared her throat discreetly. I glanced down at her to see her looking at me pointedly. So I shook my head slightly at Weasley, who grinned ever so slightly. She will so regret that.

"Now over here, we have another artist, who is a Muggle–in case you are wondering, Mister Malfoy– named Drew Thomson. He often signs his work as either Drewt, or uses a swirl. He specializes mainly in photography these days, but in the beginnings of his career he considered himself a potter," she said, leading our group over to a section of the room where the glass cases were, all of which contained pieces of pottery in a variety of earthy tones. "We were only able to attain some of his pieces from outdoor firings, but we are hoping that after the expansion is complete that we can acquire some of his photography as well."

"Is this all wood fire?" a bald man beside me asked, peering into a case that was standing beside him. I glanced in as well to see that all the pots were orange and brown in tone. Nothing that I would want to own.

"Yes, that case is, as well as the one over here," Weasley replied, gesturing towards another case. "We also have some of his raku pieces over here, most of which are masks." I looked towards those as well. They were a bit more appealing with their black, rough surface thrown off by the highly polished coloured metallic surfaces.

"And what is his influence for those?" I asked, seeing if she would be as lacking in information as she was before. I felt my mother's grip on my arm increase with warning, but I ignored her as well. The red head glanced at me, then back at the work, but this time she didn't look worried, instead she seemed to smirk ever so slightly.

"African tribal masks, of various regions," she replied, looking at me with a level stare. "He enjoyed the way the masks could be made so simple yet look so unique. He tried to capture this as well, but was never satisfied with the results."

"And why was that?" More people turned to look at me, many of them with frowns. I ignored them once more.

"Because Drew is a perfectionist," she replied, looking back at the masks. "And he does not like almost any of his pieces."

"Which ones does he like?" I asked, smirking once more as she cast her eyes about, the smirk slipping from her face. Ah ha. She doesn't know that. Her eyes fell on a case to the left of her and she seemed to relax ever so slightly.

"These bowls," she said, gesturing towards a selection of large, wide bowls or various blacks, blues and browns. "They are all very light and had minimal warping during the firing."

The bald man beside me made an appreciative noise, and I turned to look at him with a scowl. What is he so content about? And why am I making this into such a contest?

"Very hard to do, that is," he said, looking closer at the bowls. He glanced at me with a scowl of his own before walking over to a different display case.

"So I have heard," she said with a smile at the man, and I turned my scowl on her. She ignored me, but I know she saw it. Her eyes seemed to catch at something behind the group, and I turned to see the manager motioning towards my mother. I turned back towards her to see her nod in acknowledgement. "Well, I will let you all walk around and look about for a few minutes, then we'll move into another section." There were nods of approval from those around us and they began to disband.

A moment later Mister Walters approached us, smiling as he stopped in front of us, "Good evening," he said, taking my mothers hand and placing a kiss on it. She smiled back at him, and I simply stood there, holding her other arm. Walters turned to me a moment later, "I was wondering if I could steal your mother away from you for a moment."

I glanced at her to see her nodding in agreement, then nod slightly as well. "Of course," I replied, removing her arm and watching as Walters offered her his own. I frowned at that slightly but remained silent, watching as the two of them walked a little ways away and began to talk about something. I don't think that mother would ever set her sights in that direction, would she?

With a mental shake of my head I turned and looked about the room around me. None of the art within it caught my eye, so they continued to drift until they came to settle on Weasley. She was standing a little ways away from me, talking to a short woman with blonde ringlets. I never really noticed how tall Weasley is, but then, I don't have to look too far down to see her face when I stand beside her. Not that I make a habit to do so. Stand beside her or look at her face. Before I knew what was happening my feet were bringing me towards her. By the time I got to her the short woman had left to look at the art.

"Weasley," I said pleasantly, coming to a stop in from of her. No she really isn't that short, especially with those heels on. "What a wonderful surprise."

"I'm sure," she replied coldly, glaring at me. "What is it that you are trying to pull, Malfoy?"

"I don't have any idea what you are talking about," I said, a smirk spreading across my face, even as I realized that I really don't know what I am trying to pull. I realize that what I am doing is beyond childish, but I just can't seem to help myself. I don't think she realized that though as she glared at me, looking positively furious. For some reason she looks even more attractive like that. Not that she was attractive to begin with. "I just had a few questions I wanted answered, and you had said that you would answer any of them."

"Must you always go about abusing things?" she hissed, glancing around. "You know, just when I think I might be wrong about you, you turn around and pull a stunt like this. Why can't you just leave me the hell alone?"

"Excuse me?" I asked with mock astonishment, though not all of it was mock. "You are the one who is always showing up in the places I usually frequent. If anyone is to blame it's you."

She made a noise of disbelief, her lip curling ever so slightly. My smirk spread. "You're the one who keeps-"

"Miss Weasley," a gruff voice said from behind me. We both turned to see Walters staring at her with a smile. Mother was still holding onto his arm and she didn't seem inclined to remove herself from him. "Is there a problem?"

"None at all," Weasley replied with an all too fake smile. "Mister Malfoy and I were just having a little debate." She glanced at me with a warning glare. "I was just about to continue the tour, if you are ready?"

"By all means," the old man said, nodding his head. He turned my mother about and directed her attention towards something, and as he did so I looked back at Weasley to see her face going red. I smirked at her and the glare she sent back at me almost made me regret what I am doing. Almost. I don't know why, but I have suddenly decided that I love that look. Now I really know that there is something wrong with me. Seriously wrong.

o-o-o

The nerve! The bloody nerve! How could he do that to me! No, it's not enough that I have to run a tour that I have only done once before, but bloody Malfoy has to be a member of my group and ask me all sorts of questions that I have no idea what the answers are. And to add to my troubles, he continues to do so while Mister Walters is standing right there. Let's just add to an already sticky situation, shall we? I'm going to kill the bastard. I am. No one can stop me. And to make things worse, I'm late for dinner with my brothers.

You know, I am beginning to think that it is impossible to go from one bad situation without the next situation becoming even worse. This afternoon I was going through the last of my files, putting the last remnants together for who ever replaces me when Walters came in, asking for a favour. Usually I would say yes, since I really have nothing against Walters, but I had plans for dinner with my brothers, so I tried to get out of it. Unfortunately there was no one else to do it, and the girl who usually does it fell severely ill, so he was stuck. And thus so was I.

Luckily – and it really was the only good part of the day since that moment – Walters had told me early enough that I was able to floo Percy and explain what was up and get our monthly dinner set back be a couple hours. You see, we usually have this huge dinner with all of my brothers and their girlfriends, as well as Harry – who might as well be my brother for all he does with us – at the end of each month. I suppose it is a convenient excuse to eat food and catch up on the recent family gossip, though I see it more as a huge inconvenience. No matter how much I love my family I find family gatherings to be the most bothersome of events. There is just something about having to put up with people's issues which you can't really ignore because they are family.

Today, however, it will just be my brothers and me, which makes it even more bothersome. At least with all the others being there as well I can avoid being the center of attention, but if it is just the boys and me, well, fat chance of that happening. For reasons of all sorts all the other female relations of my family could not make it today, and Harry is working late yet again. He's an Auror, which should not surprise you in the slightest, but he's been getting a lot of midnight shifts lately, which I have yet to figure out why. I know for a fact that Harry gets very depressed if he does not get enough sunlight, seeing as the both of us used to complain about it when we dated way back in Hogwarts.

Regardless of all that though, I was supposed to meet up with them at the restaurant at nine, seeing as the tour should have been done within an hour and a half, leaving me half an hour to change into something more brotherly appropriate. Well, thanks to a certain Malfoy and all his retarded questions the tour took an hour longer than it was supposed to, and now I am over half an hour late. To add to that I never got the chance to send them an owl explaining why, nor do I have the time to go home and change into something that makes me look less like a fashion show escapee, and more like the me I usually am. Oh, they are going to be so ticked off, especially Percy, who is a stickler for punctuality, and it is all bloody Malfoy's fault. I could kill him!

I stormed up to my office, ignoring everyone and everything in my path, and grabbed my cloak and purse. I walked out of my office, and, turning to lock my door, banged it shut as hard as I could. Sadly the loud bang was muffled by the corner of my cloak getting caught in the doorjamb. With a hiss I pulled it back out and locked my door, then whirled around to head downstairs to the alley, where I could safely Apparate to the restaurant, only to come face to chest with someone.

I took in a sharp breath of surprise and stumbled back to regain my balance, which had been lost when my forceful whirl had come to an abrupt stop. I glared up at the offending person who was unfortunate enough to be in my way, when I realized who it was. Can't the bloody bastard just leave me alone? Isn't it bad enough that he has ruined my evening? Has to come and rub it in some as well!

"Watch where you're going, Weasley," Malfoy drawled, looking down on me with a sneer. I glared up at him, feeling my temper flare. Honestly, I haven't felt this pissed off in a very long time. And trust me, I don't get this angry very often, but when I do I scare even myself. The only thing for it is to walk away before something, or someone, namely Malfoy, gets blown up.

"Fuck off, Malfoy," I snarled, pushing past him and storming down the hallway. What does he think he's doing? First he pulls a stunt that would have cost me my job, had I not already been quitting, and now he's following me up to my office? Bloody hell, what's wrong with him?

"Now Weasley," his voice said from just behind me. He couldn't be – he is. I pressed my lips together as hard as I could, trying to count to ten, but it didn't help. All I can feel is my blood beginning to boil.

"You better not be following me Malfoy," I threw over my shoulder with a snarl, even though I know for sure that he is following me. I can hear him breathing. "Otherwise I am going to scream for security."

"Like you need protection from me," he hissed back, his voice sounding more irritated than before. Well, fine, why don't you just leave then? If I am irritating you then you can just very well leave me alone. I don't have time for this! I'm late!

"It's not for me, it's for you," I snapped back, rounding a corner and storming over to the stairwell without even looking at him. I didn't need to because I know that he is right behind me.

I threw the door open and almost flung it shut behind me, but I don't have time to start something like that. A second later, when I was half way down the first set of stairs I heard Malfoy's footsteps falling quickly behind me. "I'm late Malfoy," I told him, glancing back to see an irritated look on his face. "And I don't have time to hide your body if you keep following me and pissing me off as you are."

"Like I'm scared of you," he told me back, running now to catch up with me. "Will you just wait?"

"No," I snapped, and moved myself faster down the stairs. It was a little more difficult than it should have been, since I am wearing heals that are a lot narrower than the ones I usually wear. They're the only ones that I have that go properly with this dress though, and I wasn't intending to be running about in them. "Leave me alone."

"Weasley," he said again, his voice getting even more irritated. Well good, maybe I can get him so irritated that he will jump off a bridge. Wouldn't that be nice?

"No," I snapped again, finally coming to the door that would lead out to the alley and jerking it open. I turned and glared at him, holding the door in a way so that I could swing it shut in his face, but not moving to do so. He looked a little flustered, which should have given me some ounce of satisfaction for making the prime and proper Malfoy stoop to the level of frustration, but I didn't feel anything like that. I was still too angry. Even too angry to notice the rare redness on his cheeks; which, if I wasn't so angry, would have once again got me wondering about how human he has suddenly become.

"Will you just listen for a second?" he demanded, stepping slowly off the last step and staring at me from across the landing. I glared at him, my chest heaving. What could he possibly say that I would need to hear? I can't honestly believe that he would apologise, could I? That is even more unthinkable than him proposing to me, at least that one he would have a reason for: to get in the good with my father. But to apologise? The world would end if he did.

I simply rose my eyebrows up at him, giving him an expectant look, but not bothering to hide my anger or my impatience. He opened his mouth to say whatever it was he was going to say, but I never heard it for it was at that point that someone in the alley called my name. I turned to see Bill and Ron standing in the opening, waving at me. I waved back at them, my anger starting to ebb ever so slightly at the sight of them smiling rather than frowning. I glanced back to Malfoy, to hear whatever there was to hear, but he was gone.

I looked around the stairwell, but there was no trace of him. No sound of fleeing footsteps, no stench of ferret, and no footprints either. I frowned. Well, why chase me around if you are only going to run off at the last moment? He could have saved us both the energy if he was just going to do that. The bloody bastard. See, I was right. He hasn't changed at all, even if we do keep having these odd gaps in our animosity. Well, there was definite animosity today, perhaps those gaps have rolled over and died? Can't say I am all that worried, I hate him after all. I should not get along with people I hate, as I mentioned before.

"Ginny!" Ron called, trying to draw my attention towards him.

With a shake of my head I turned away from the now empty hall and closed the door behind me. I pulled my cloak on over my shoulders and then made my way down of the alley towards my brothers, who were both standing in the mouth of it.

"We've been looking all over for you. Gin," Ron said as I came up to them. I barley had a chance to look at either of them before Ron wrapped me up in a large hug and held onto me for a moment. I hugged him back, having to stand on my tiptoes as he leant back a bit. Ron and Bill are the freakishly tall ones in the family, along with dad, which makes it a little difficult when they give me big hugs like these.

"Actually, we just got here," Bill admitted, gathering me into his arms after Ron had let go. I hugged him back as well, suddenly feeling all the anger, which had begun to fade as soon as Malfoy disappeared, drop out of me, leaving me tired and a little sad. I don't know why, but I had the sudden urge to cry, to cling to Bill and not let go until he made it all better. But I sucked it up. Now is certainly not the time. "We all held a vote to see who should come and get you. We were the unfortunate ones."

"Yah, I was getting rather comfortable too," Ron complained, as Bill let go of me and they led me away from the alley and down the street.

"Well, you didn't need to come and get me," I replied, a feeling of irritation rising within me once more. "People were asking me a few more questions than necessary and it took a bit longer than it should have. I would have sent an owl, but I thought it would just be faster if I Apparated over myself and explained."

"Well, whatever," Bill replied. "I needed to get away from Percy anyways, getting you was as good an excuse as any."

I turned and looked up at him, noting that his long hair was once again tied down at the base of his neck, exposing the small diamond stud in his ear. He had had to trade the fang in for the stud after his first daughter was born and had discovered how fun it was to pull on daddy's earrings. He bitched for weeks about it, until Fleur threatened to magic the hole closed altogether, at which point he invested in a few studs. I think it suits him better, now that he's getting up in the years.

And yes, he is married to Fleur, has been for quite some time now. They hooked up during the war, which wasn't all that surprising to me, the way she was throwing herself at him in the bank. I didn't really like her all that much at the time, I mean, here she was acting like a total tramp, trying to seduce my good looking brother. I don't see her that way anymore. She's actually got quite a quirky sense of humour, which is always fun to experience. The most important thing though is that she makes Bill happy, which I can't hate her for. That and the nieces that I have now are just the cutest little strawberry blondes you will ever see.

"Is he that bad again?" I asked wearily, referring to Percy.

Percy goes through mood swings like no one I know. Sometimes he'll be quiet and quite giving, other times he's short tempered and liable to yell at you for taking a step too close towards him, and then sometimes he just sits there and silently glares at you for no apparent reason. He has always been like that, but after he was reintegrated into the family, and got over the apology phase, I notice he's been getting worse. Lately he's been in a permanent yelling stage.

It kind of surprises me really, since his new career exposes him to the dangers of an unhappy family life. He's a social worker now, focusing in the area of family violence. I have a feeling that he feels guilty for all that he did while putting his weight behind Fudge back when He Who Must Not Be Named was rising again, and uses this job as a means to make amends to our society. Not that he would ever admit it to anybody. I know it puts a lot of strain on him, which could be causing all his overreactions. It's that or his wife, who can cause anyone to go into hysterics.

Jasmine is this tiny little volatile thing that no one in the family, save Percy, actually likes. There's just something about the way she complains about everything she can possibly wrap her lips around that seems to get on everyone's nerves. I am sure she must get on Percy's sometimes as well, though I have never seen him yell at her – possibly why he takes it out on the rest of us. Oh well. That's just Percy for you I suppose, after a few years you learn to ignore his ways and accept who he really is inside. He means well, but he doesn't always come across like he does. Actually, he rarely does.

"Yah," Ron said, digging his hands into his pockets. "I would say he got up on the wrong side of the bed, if that could possibly have any effect on him these days."

I always feel bad for Ron. It seems that Percy likes to pick on him the most out of all of us, mainly because he doesn't approve of what he does. During the war Ron was one of the chief planners and organizers of Order's forces, once mum let him actually have a say in anything. Somehow his freakish ability to always win in chess made his battle plans ingenious and seriously aided the cause. Sure made everyone look at him in a new light, I can tell you.

When it was all over he refused to join Harry in becoming an Auror, which annoyed Percy, and instead tried to make a go at Quidditch. It took him a few years, but he eventually managed to land himself on a professional team. And I will give you three guesses as to which team he got on, the first two don't count. Didn't surprise the family much, in fact, the twins continued to say for the whole year he was a member, that the team couldn't get any worse with him there.

He actually did fairly well with it, and the team amazingly began to improve, much to the world's astonishment, and the twins. His freakish chess abilities seemed to come in handy there as well, once he figured out how to adapt them to Quidditch. And it probably would have continued along those lines if he hadn't gotten injured in a freak midair broom collision. Needless to say, he had to give up playing. They say it is a miracle that he can still walk, though I always knew he could get his legs back under him if he tried, and I know my brother, he's as stubborn as they come.

Now he is simply coaching the Canons, and his strategies are still getting the team wins. I think they might actually make the finals this year, if they keep going the way that they are going, which is excellent for Ron and his morale. Percy doesn't agree with all of this though, having never really liked or approved of Quidditch. Mum doesn't either, which I think just adds to it, but dad and the rest of us are always there to support him, so I think it balances out in the end. Still, it irritates him to always have Percy on his case when he is happy with what he is doing, and personally I don't blame him.

"Great," I grumbled in response, putting my own hands in my pockets.

We all slipped into silence after that, probably thinking about what was to come. The odd thing about having a large family with such emotional members is that you can never quite tell what to expect before you show up. The mood at these dinners is always different, depending on what is going on in everyone's lives. Usually it is pretty easygoing, but when Percy is like this it is far from, and without the other members of the party, well, it could be getting a bit nasty. Suppose I will just have to wait and see what is to come.

"So did you see the game last night?" Bill asked, breaking the silence we held. I smiled up at him and then smirked slightly at the scowl on Ron's face. Ron had been hoping that the Arrows would win so that he wouldn't have to deal with the Wasps when the round robins came around. Neither of us commented on that though.

"But of course," I replied to Bill, still smiling. Actually, after the game began things got a whole lot better between Zach and me. Well, not to the point that we were back to normal, but to the point that I could pretend that we were. "I went to St. Augh's with Zach and watched it on the screen. I forgot how good the food is there."

"Isn't there a St. Augh's in Ives?" Bill asked, glancing around the next street as we rounded a corner.

"I've never been to Ives," I said, looking up at him and glancing at Ron who shrugged.

"Neither have I," he replied with a shrug of his own.

"Then why do you care?" I asked with a slight frown.

"I don't really," he said, jamming his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. "I just felt like asking."

"Right," Ron said, then turned to me. "Is that Zach fellow still gay and acting as though something is rammed up his arse?"

I frowned at Ron. He has never liked Zach. Never. Especially after that whole Quidditch incident in his seventh year, but I will not be getting into that. I think he nearly had an aneurism when he found out I was hanging out with him after all these years. He always brings him up as though hoping we would have had a falling out. The way things seem to be going lately I don't see that being far from the truth.

"I am going to pretend that you never asked me that," I informed him, then proceeded to ask Bill how his daughters are.

It took us five minutes to get to the restaurant on foot, the whole way finding out what antics my nieces have gotten into lately, as well as what Ron's plans are for the Christmas holiday. All rather mundane, but interesting to hear about. And yes, I do realize that I am sounding hypocritical. I have this thing where I hate having to meet up with my family, but once I am there it is all good. Usually. Right now seems to be one of those times, but I think the Percy element might change a few things.

"There she is," I heard Charlie say, as we entered La Grange, a restaurant that has nothing to do with barns and everything to do with classic rock. We made our way towards a corner of the restaurant where several tables had been pushed together, as usual. I looked around with as large a smile as I dared to put on my face as I approached the table.

"Sorry I'm late," I told them, just before Charlie, who is much closer to my height, but double my width, gave me a hug which I swear squeezed the air right out of me. I tried to return it but I know I will never be that strong. "But they kept me a bit late and I didn't have time to send an owl."

"That's ok sis," Fred said, giving me a quick hug just before George did the same. The two of them are a bit taller than me when I have my heels on. I don't know why I keep telling you how tall all of my brothers are in comparison to me. They are all taller then me so I don't see why it matters. Next to mum I'm the shortest.

"We understand," George added, patting me on the head. I scowled at him. I hate it when he does that, and he knows it.

I turned and looked at Percy, who was still seated and looking a mite angry. He nodded his head at me, which is all I ever really get for a greeting from him. He never really was one for hugs, and honestly I don't think he knows how to give a proper one anymore. I'm used to his standoffishness though, and I think the world would end if he suddenly attacked me with hugs.

"Let me take your cloak," Bill said, as I began to take it off before I sat down. He took it off my shoulders and, as I had a feeling he would, Ron scowled.

"They let you work in _that_?" he asked in disbelief. I glared at him then glanced down at myself. I bought this dress specifically for the unfortunate times that I have to work on Friday nights. As such it is one of the most modest things I own, with the exception that it does show off a bit more leg than it probably should. Not like I'm hanging out of it though, so with that in mind I stuck my tongue out at Ron.

"You look lovely," Charlie reassured me, gesturing towards the seat beside him. I smiled at him and sat down, then shot another glare at Ron. "Our brother just doesn't understand that you're not a baby anymore."

"Yes she is," Ron muttered, dropping into his own seat across from me, looking sullen. Ron never likes what I wear, never has ever since I began to dress myself. Everything is either too short, or too revealing, or too anything. I think he would be happiest if I wore a potato sack, but even then someone might see my ankle, horror of all horrors.

The waiter came and I ordered some wine, as everyone at the table already had a drink for themselves. We settled into a session of comfortable chatter, looking over the menu and updating each other on what had been happening. When the waiter returned with my wine we all placed our orders then continued to talk.

Percy was indeed in a foul mood as he told me about Jasmine's sudden urge to have their flat repainted and how the painters didn't show up on time. I never got to hear the rest of the story though as George happily announced that he has yet another new girlfriend.

George can never seem to hang onto them once he gets them, thus why he goes through so many; a total opposite of Fred, who can't seem to get over Angelina. They have been dating on and off since they left Hogwarts, the off times being anywhere from days to years. They eventually get back together though, as they are right now.

The both of them run Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, their joke shop that is so popular they have over fifteen franchises across Western Europe. They are planning on breaking into the Eastern half soon, since they get a lot of individual orders from the area. No one quite expected their success to be as great as it is, a fact that they never let our mother forget.

"Ginny," Charlie said, attracting my attention away from where the twins had begun to debate Quidditch with Ron. "Alana and I were wondering if t would be possible if we could borrow your dog for a week or so in the near future. Sammy has been begging us to get one, but we want to make sure he will be able to look after the creature if we do. We understand if you are uncomfortable with the idea, but we figured it wouldn't hurt to ask." I frowned at my brother.

Alana is his wife, a very pretty, very clever former model, who now spends her time designing clothes for her own line. Sammy is their only son, a spoiled little brat who usually gets whatever he wants if he screams enough. Not sure if I like the idea of Sneazel being trapped with the boy for a week, but I know my puppy loves Charlie.

"You won't let your dragons eat him, will you?" I asked, still frowning at him.

Yes, Charlie is still in the dragon business. It's actually where he met Alana, as she was doing some fund raising work for the company. They live with their lot facing the fencing of the site. Improbable for Sneazel to get into the dragon pen, but something I certainly would not want happening to my poor puppy.

"Of course not," my brother replied, frowning back at me. "You know that we just updated the pens to keep everything but us out and keep only the dragons in. There is no possible way that your dog could get in there."

I do remember him telling us about that, several times. I just don't know if I want to part with my puppy for that long. I know he would be rather mad at me if I just dump him at my brother's for no reason other than for my nephew's entertainment. But at the same time I think it might do him some good to have someone to play with him all day in that huge grassy space my brother calls a yard. I know I don't get him enough romp time the way my life goes.

"I suppose it would be alright, but only if he wants to," I said after a few minute's thought. A large smile broke out on my brother's face. "But you have to remember that Sneazel is almost six, and a puppy will be far more energetic than he is and a lot more to handle and train." My brother nodded happily.

"I know," Charlie replied, still nodding.

"So, Ginny," Percy said from beside Ron, drawing my attention towards him. "What was it that you had to do so late?"

"Oh," I replied with a shrug, turning slightly in my seat so I could see him better. "The woman who usually runs the Friday night tours feel sick today, so I had to take over for her. It went a bit longer than it should have because, Mal- someone had a lot of questions."

I caught myself. The last thing I need is for them all to go ranting and raving over Malfoy coming within a hundred feet of their baby sister. It was bad enough with that article last week, which I was able to convince them that it was photo manipulation and that I haven't actually had any contact with the bloody git. Something that will probably come and bite me in the ass soon, but until then it works to keep me from having to hear about the horrible Mister Malfoy. I already know how horrible he is, I don't need them to remind me.

"They're still making you run tours?" Bill asked, and I glanced at him, weighing my options. I haven't exactly told anyone in my family that I am quitting. I think my father knows, because nothing gets past his people, but my brothers don't, and I am assuming my mother doesn't either otherwise, I would have gotten a Howler by now.

"Well, this should be the last one," I replied. "I'm only there for another week."

All of my brothers looked at me in surprise, but I was spared their immediate reaction as several waiters came, placing all of our food in front of us. I avoided all of their eyes and focused on the person placing food down in front of me. He seemed a little too young to be legally working at this time of night. As soon as they left, however, Percy was the first to demand explanation, all food forgotten in front of him.

"You got a new job?" Percy asked, hope in his voice. He has always disapproved of my job at the gallery. He doesn't think I have anywhere to go with it, and keeps insisting I should go work for the Ministry, or at least in their art department. He claims that that way I can move up the corporate ladder. I don't want to move up any ladders, corporate or wooden, however, and I have told him this many times. Sometimes I wish he had never felt guilty about what he did, just so I don't have to be pressured by him to get my life together. I am not going to end up like one of his cases.

"Well, sort of," I said evasively, avoiding his hopeful look. What will he say when I tell him I am going to go hard core into my paintings? He didn't like the idea of my going to art school so I can only imagine what this will cause him to think.

"It's nothing illegal, is it sis?" George asked, sending a wink my way, then glancing at Percy. I gave him a weak smile back.

"Yah, we know how much money is in drugs and all that wonderful stuff," Fred added with a solemn look, nodding his head.

"But it's not a good business for you," George continued, once again smirking in Percy's direction.

"Take it from us," Fred concluded, smirking at Percy as well.

"Oh, you would know too," Percy hissed at them, and they just looked at each other and smiled wickedly.

I don't think the twins will ever stop tormenting Percy. Well, they had when he first came back, but after that it's been right back to normal. Not that I blame them really. The way Percy goes on about family problems and what causes them and why we ourselves should stay away from it all does get a little old very fast. They don't seem to believe a word he says about it all though, and make sure to rub it in his face every chance that they get.

"So, what are you going to do now, Gin?" Bill asked, making his voice loud enough that he cut over the other three who were now bickering over the pros, cons and illegality of drug dealing. I glanced at them then looked to my other three brothers, who were all waiting patiently for an answer.

"Well, I thought I would actually try and make a go at selling my paintings," I said, glancing between them.

The other side of the table dropped into silence, and I glanced over to see Percy staring at me with shock and the twins looking at me with a mixture of glee and pride. I looked back to my other brothers, only to find that Bill and Charlie were sort of smiling but looking doubtful and that Ron was in between frowning and looking confused.

"I have enough connections through work to get my art up in galleries," I continued, suddenly feeling that I need to justify my actions; that I need to convince them that I have to do this. I don't need their approval to go through with this, because I will do it regardless if my family disowns me for doing it or not. I need to paint. I need to discover myself as an artist, and if they can't accept that, well screw them all. It would, however, be nice if I had someone from my family on my side.

"And I almost have enough for a show with just what I have been doing part time." Still none of them said anything. I felt a pang of doubt inside of me. If this is the way they are taking this, then what will mum say? "And I will still be getting money through my commissioned work. I have three of them to do right now..." I let my voice trail off, as all of them were still staring. I dropped my eyes and began to twirl my fork through my pasta, not really caring what got on it.

I shouldn't have said anything. Now I am the one who has put a downer on the evening. I should have just kept this all to myself and then surprised everyone with a big show that would get me lots of money. But the only problem with that plan is that I don't know when I will have a show and I can't very well pretend that I am still working at the gallery while I stay home and paint. It just wouldn't work and I would be in bigger trouble than I seem to be in right now.

"Does mum know?" Ron asked after a moment, causing me to look up at him. The confusion was gone, leaving only the frown. I shook my head slowly.

"No," I said, looking back down on my plate. "I haven't really told anyone." Except Malfoy, and my friends. Why did Malfoy come first on that list? "And I would prefer that she doesn't find out for a little while at least."

"Damn Ginny," Charlie said from beside me. "You are going to kill mum and dad with all your stunts lately." I frowned at him. "First there was that beam that nearly squashed you, then there was that whole incident in the paper with that Malfoy, and now you've quit your job?" Well, now that he put it that way...

"I think it's grand!" Fred suddenly burst out. I snapped my head up to look at him. He was smiling at me as though I had just told him I had won the lottery and was giving him half of my winnings.

"Yes," George agreed. "You should go for your dream Ginny."

"No one here is going to hold you back," Fred added, looking pointedly at Percy. I chanced a glance at him, only to find him glaring daggers at me.

"We wouldn't be where we are if we had listened to what was supposedly proper for us," George continued, looking at Percy as well. I looked away from the three of them and instead looked to Bill and Charlie, both of whom now looked more convinced than they had a few minutes ago.

"Well, I do suppose that if she kills mum we will actually have an opinion on how our children should be raised," Charlie said with a shrug towards the eldest at the table. I frowned at him, but didn't say anything as I looked to Bill to see his reaction. He seemed to think about that. How sadistic.

"Yes, that's right, isn't it?" Then he smiled as if he was thinking something devious. "I might actually be able to get that motorcycle then without having to put up with her nagging. I would only have to deal with Fleur." I looked to Ron to see him nodding as well, probably thinking about how he could live his bachelor's life in peace without our mother's matchmaking attempts.

I let out a little sigh. Well, five out of six isn't bad at all. "You guys are terrible," I hissed, not willing to show them how relieved I am. "I am not going to kill mum. If anyone is going to kill her it's going to be one of you not getting 'settled down' as she keeps complaining to me."

"Hey watch what you say about that," George warned, his fork halfway to his mouth. "She's not very happy with your piss poor attempts to settle down either."

"Agh, what else is new?" Ron hissed before filling his mouth with food. Funny how a situation that was so on edge a minute ago can now suddenly become good again.

"Watch it Ronnikins," Fred warned him, smirking. "We all know what mum thinks should be happening between you and Hermione." Ron choked slightly while glaring at all of us who had the gall to giggle.

I suppose I have to do some explaining here. Hermione and Ron used to date, started in their sixth year. Big surprise, right? Well, it got really serious for a while there, and after the war they ended up moving in together, much to the horror of my mother and distress to Harry. They had their rows of course, as it is inevitable with those two, so it was very much an on and off thing for a few years. That is until Ron finally asked her to marry him. And Hermione ran.

No one is quite sure why, as she never gave much explanation, just up and left and didn't tell anyone what was going on. Ron was devastated of course, but he eventually got over it, in a way. He was actually doing pretty well until Hermione published her history novels. She had spent the time away capturing all of the events that had happened during their seven years at Hogwarts, all the while secretly contacting Harry for extra details. When Ron saw them in the stores he freaked. I suppose it would be a little horrible to find your life suddenly exposed without your knowledge of it happening.

Problem was that they got rather popular. So popular in fact, that some Muggles got a hold of them and thought they were the most fantastic children's series. Of course, the Muggle publishing companies got a hold of Hermione and negotiated a contract with her to get the books published, adjusting them to make them more children friendly. They have even made a few movies with actors that look nothing like us, though they did manage to get Filch down to a t.

When she ran, Hermione cut her ties with all of us. If it hadn't been for the books, she probably would have stopped talking to Harry as well. Or at least, that was what we had all thought. In fact, she had been keeping in touch with Fred all along. He never explained what was going on there, and I hope, for Ron's sake, that he never does. But lately he's been talking about her more and more, as though she suddenly gave him permission to. My mum is taking it as a sign that her and Ron might get back together, though how she figures that is beyond me. Though I have to admit, I've always secretly hoped that they would get it right in the end.

"Yah, mum will be playing match maker all over again, just you watch," George added, grinning gleefully as Ron turned an unpleasant shade of red.

Surprisingly the rest of the dinner went much better than I expected. Percy remained silent, and the rest of us ranted a bit about our mother, as we often do to ease the tensions of her meddling. Complaining about our parents turned to complaining about life in general, then to the latest must see Muggle movies. Ron and I have the closet tastes when it comes to those sorts of things. Then of course talk turned to Quidditch, which got a little out of control because none of my brothers, with exception of the twins, cheer for the same team – though we are all supportive of Ron when it comes down to it. Somewhere during that time I got a wonderful idea for a painting and scribbled it down on a napkin before I could forget it.

"Well, this was fun," Fred said with a huge yawn as we all stood up and got ready to leave. "Same time next month?"

"Is it really after one?" Ron asked in disbelief, looking down on his watch. I glanced down on my own and took a double take. It really is that late. Well, we did start late, so I shouldn't be that surprised. But still, it doesn't feel like three hours have gone by. Guess time really does fly when you are having fun.

"Go figure," Charlie said with a shrug, as well all moved towards the exit, waving our thanks to the staff who were in the process of cleaning up around the other stragglers in the building. "So who's going to walk sister home?"

"Sister doesn't need to be walked home," I told him, as well as the rest of the lot. I pulled my cloak on around me and glared at him. "Sister is a big girl and can take care of herself."

This is another little thing that does bother me about my brothers, my whole family actually, regardless of how much fun I am having before hand. All of them seem to think that I am incapable of getting home on my own, or even live independently without help. Well, you saw that with my mother and her push for me to live with someone, anyone. I know that they all mean well, but it gets really annoying. I mean, I am a grown adult woman. I can take care of myself, regardless what they think. I do not need to be taken home after every single family event. They even try to floo home with me when we're at our parent's house for Merlin's sake.

"Of course sister can," George replied soothingly, deciding to play along.

"Sister can beat the crap out of any who even so much as look at her funny," Fred added, nodding his head and grinning.

"Which is exactly why sister must be accompanied home," George concluded, looking around with a large smile.

"To protect all those unfortunate enough to try and court her," Fred said with a firm nod, eliciting snorts of laughter from the rest of them. Sure, laugh it up. But you guys are usually the ones that are the reason why no one tries to court me anymore. Their antics are well known in our society, let me tell you. I narrowed my eyes and my hands somehow ended up on my hips.

"You have no idea how much you look like mum when you do that," Ron said, watching me warily, his laughter cutting off.

"Yah, Gin," Bill agreed, watching me with a mock frown. "It's scary. Stop it."

"Oh push off," I told them, trying not to smile.

That's another thing that they always like to do to me, compare me to mum. Usually I don't have a problem with it, because it is kind of funny, but sometimes it really bothers me. I look at my mother and I know that I do not want to be like her when I have my own children. I do not want to stand about and yell at them until I can't yell anymore. She would scream for us to give her respect that she thought she was owed when she couldn't even respect us enough to speak with us civilly, or to even trust us to be able to make our own decisions. Sure, we didn't always make the right ones, but I want my children to be able to have the chance to make a mistake and then I can be there to help them back together. I never want to be like that with my kids, when I ever actually have them, but sometimes the things I do are so much like my mother that I fear I will be just like her. Perhaps every daughter is doomed to turn out just like their mum.

"I'll walk her home," Percy said, causing us all to stop and look at him. He was staring about seriously.

"It's ok, Percy," I assured him. "I really don't need an escort. I just live down the street." I pointed as if to help him understand. The seriousness on his face was making me uneasy. It's the kind of look he has just before he explains to you why he thinks things are wrong. And since I had to go and tell them about my quitting my job he is most likely thinking about that. I don't really want to hear about the error of my ways though. I know what is good for me, and he never has.

"No, I insist," he said, nodding his head. He looked so serious, almost like dad, that I didn't know what would happen if I did say no.

"Fine," I said with a shrug, turning to the rest of my brothers. "Night you guys."

"Night Ginny," they all said, giving me hugs, before saying goodnight to Percy as well and heading off into the night to do whatever it was they still had to do. I smiled after them for a moment, suddenly feeling very alone. No matter how much I complained, or still complain, about being around my brothers, I still love being around them. It usually really sinks in once they are gone. But isn't that the true irony of this world?

"Shall we?" I asked Percy, turning to look at him with a smile. A smile that faltered when I saw his face. He was frowning now, looking angrier than I have ever seen him. "Percy?" I said cautiously, not quite sure what to make of his expression. "Are you ok?"

"No, I am not," he snapped at me, and all the remnants of happy feelings died. I opened my mouth to say something, but I didn't know what to say, so I closed it again.

"I don't know what our parents are thinking," he said, still frowning at me. "The way they are letting you carry on. Don't you see that you are going no where Ginny? That you aren't going to have any security by the time you are too old to work? That you are going to have nothing to fall back on because you are wasting your life chasing after a dream that is ridiculously unrealistic?"

I stared at him, my mouth half open. Did he really just say all that? I mean, he has told me stuff like that before, but never so forward and in my face. He's never looked so angry about it either. What could be getting into him? I understand that his work is stressing him out, but he doesn't have to take it out on me and my life.

"If I had any say in the matter you would never have been allowed to go to that art school," he continued, looking angrier yet. "I would have made sure you went to a proper school where you could have gotten a real job and made real money and actually had some sort of life. Can't you see what I am saying Ginny? You're going nowhere."

I continued to stare at him, the anger I had felt before dinner slamming back into me. Who the hell does he think he was telling me this? Just because working his ass off until he will keel over of a heart attack at the age of thirty works for him, doesn't mean it has to work for me. It won't work for me. It can't. I can't live like that. And you know, now that I think about it, it doesn't work for him either; what with his leaving his bloody family to put his faith in an insane Fudge instead? Anyone who can screw up his own life that bad and drag himself back should realize that you can always bounce back, that if you make a mistake you can make the best of it. Apparently he doesn't though.

"No, I don't see, Percy," I said icily, letting my own anger show through. "And I don't think you have any right to tell me that I can't. I know what is good for me, whether you believe it or not. I am not wasting my life, and I am certainly not going nowhere." He opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. "If anything I think I am finally on the right path, but I am never going to know if it is if I don't take it. Life is to be lived, Percy, not to be hidden from from behind a desk in some office. I can't watch the world go by from my office window while I whittle my life away filing papers. It might work for you, but it doesn't for me. I've tried it, I know. I want to paint, I _need_ to paint. And I don't really give a fuck about what you or anyone else has to say about it. It's my life, mine, no one else's, and I have a right to live it as I want, to make as many mistakes as I want, and I am going to."

Percy looked at me affronted, his anger seeming to have taken a momentary lapse. "Ginny," he began, but I shook my head, pulling out my wand.

"No Percy," I snapped. "I'm tired, I'm pissed off and now I am leaving. If you want to say anything else about how I am wasting my life away you can send me an owl or something, because I am done with your disapproval. I mean seriously, it's not like you're dad or anyone. You're just my brother." And with that I Apparated away with a crack.

I reappeared in front of the liquor store down the street from my flat, breathing so hard that I probably would have feared hyperventilation if I was thinking properly. What was I thinking, saying all that shit? Sure it was true, but I didn't need to say it, I didn't need to hurt Percy. Sure, the guy's an ass sometimes, and he really is just looking out for me, but it doesn't mean I can take pot shots at him because I got angry. Dammit. Why do I have to be so selfish?

After five minutes of berating myself, I finally entered the store, got two cases of coolers, and stormed back to my flat, where I proceeded to get drunk out of my mind. Which is all I ever seem to do anymore.

o-o-o

**Works Cited:**

o- The Appleby Arrows and Wimbourne Wasps are from Quidditch through the Ages, of course.

o- _"_FUCK YOU JANGA!" – Some of Lallie's sister's friends were playing Extreme Janga one day in CAB and one of them got mad and screamed that when there was relative silence. I thought it was amusing and had to put it in something...

o- _"_-exactly why some of the American states are trying to ban that pigment." – Apparently California is trying to ban a type of white oil paint because it's harmful to people. I didn't catch the entire story, but this was the part that I did hear.

o- Sylvia and Drew are actually friends of mine. Well Sylvia more so than Drew lately, but whatever. They are both striving to become artists like me, and the art that I described is their own. You can find Syl's art here: http / ginchan. deviantart .com You just need to take out the spaces. Drew doesn't have a site, unfortunately, though he has had some shows at Emily Carr recently.

o- "Isn't there a St. Augh's in Ives?_"_ – This is of course a quote from _Monty Python on the Holy Grail_, one of my favourite movies. I believe Sir Lancelot says this.

o- I got the idea for the books being thought of as fiction rather than histories from Single White Vampire, by Lyndsay Sands. A great little fluff book about a vampire author who writes history books about his family but the mortal world considers them to be romance novels. Wonderful read for those of you who are looking for something funny and romantic.

o-o-o

A/N: Wow. Long works cited today. Anyhoo, I think this is my longest chapter yet for this story. Bah. And nothing really happened with the exception of some dire misunderstandings, but that is all I will be saying about that. For now. So yes, you should now be able to review without having to logout, so that means there is nothing to hold you back. So please, tell me what you thought.

Many thanks to: **Dustbunnie**(Failure! Jk)**, wisperinglilies**(Just because you said that it's going to take longer. Lol)**, alenchic, Isadora**(Anyfufu! Crazy! p)**, wounded-angle**(Sleep? Why would you ever need that?)**, dracolovesginny**(Man, I wish my friends were snarky like that. Lucky you)**, tulzdavampslayer**(Yes dear, you can now review while logged in)**, twinkletoes22, Miah The Storm Wolf**(Oh no. Now that I have actually taken a few psyhc courses I don't think I ever could. Lol)**, Walfreeda Myrddin**(Suffer! Suffer! Slowly! Slowly!)**, Calla-ForEvEa, MoonlightPrincess**(Sadistic by liking snarkyness? Never) and **Ahhh**(Sorry dear, I'm a daughter, not a son. Lol)

Oh, and please check out Lallie and I's new story, since like no one seems to have read it. You can find it under Bitter is Better, (I have a link in my bio) and it's really fun. At least, we think it's fun. It's D/G...


	7. Lost Cause

Title: Painting an Oyster

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one legged lesbian seagull hotmail com (Please add 3 underscores, one "at" sign, and a period)

A/N: I have to apologize if there quite a few typos in this chapter. I was editing while under the influence of Tylenol 3s. Yah, they won't let me drive, but editing is an entirely different story. Lol. Anyhoo, I had a lot of problems with this chapter, more than I expected. It just didn't flow, and I ended up redoing it about four times, and I am still not happy with it. Actually, I think it is the weakest chapter so far, and that is saying something. Gah. Oh well, at least I got rid of most of what happened in the first draft I wrote last year. Honestly, they were like little children, rampaging about. Again. Not that they aren't still doing that... How about I just let you read the story and realize how horrible of a chapter I have put out. Things should get better after this. I hope. Oh, and I know the song doesn't really work, but it is one of my favourite songs, and I just felt like using it.

Disclaimer: Why would I want to claim that I own this piece of shit chapter? Why?

**Painting an Oyster**

**Chapter 7**

**Lost Cause**

--o--

Soundtrack: "Lost Cause" by Beck

--o--

I don't know what got into me last night. How could I have possibly decided that I loved to see Weasley angry? And how could I have possibly stood there and asked question after stupid question until I was certain there would be steam pouring out of her ears? Not only is it not sane, but it is not good for my health either. I had forgotten that she could get as angry as she did. That is one thing she hasn't been since we reencountered each other that day, she hasn't really gotten all that mad, though I never realized it until she was rampaging down that hallway, ranting and raving like she had back in Hogwarts.

And the sad part was that I was more than a little turned on by it. I know. It's wrong, it's gross. She's a bloody Weasley. I should not be turned on by anything a bloody Weasley does, regardless of how attractive her body is. The simple fact that she is a Weasley should scare off any such attraction. But it doesn't.

It just gets worse too – and trust me, it can get worse – because after I had gotten her so mad, so mad that she was certainly about to commit murder in front of her boss, I had felt bad about it. I didn't realize it at first, but after the tour had completed and she had gone off I couldn't help but see the betrayal in her face every time I blinked my eyes. And the more I tried to ignore the image the more it persisted to be in my mind. It had gotten to the point where I finally found myself going up to her office in an attempt to make it better. Though as to how I was going to do _that_ I have no idea. Apologise? Am I even capable to doing that for a Weasley? Either way, I was on my way there before I even realized what was happening, and by the time I did she had smacked into me, raging like a fiery dragon. A soddingly attractive fiery dragon.

Whatever I had intended to do to make that damned expression of hers get out of my head was interrupted by the arrival of her brothers. And trust me, I was not in the mood to have to deal with more than one angry red head in that moment, so I made myself scarce. Without having the ability to get the expression out of my head, since I didn't "made it better", she haunted me all last night, troubling my sleep to the point where I woke up at six and have been awake ever since.

And that is why I am here, in front of her door before eight in the bloody morning on a Saturday, debating as to whether or not I should knock on her door. It was like last night, I hadn't even realized my intentions until I was Apparating over here, at which point it was too late to leave. Well it isn't. I mean, I can simply Apparate back home and try to forget that I ever attempted to come here and do what ever it is I feel compelled to do. I could leave before anyone sees me and she knows I was even here.

I honestly don't know what I am thinking though. What am I going to do? Pound on her door until she crawls out of bed – and there is no way she is not in bed right now – looking tousled and furious, at which point I will tell her- tell her what? Sorry for being such an ass last night. I just couldn't help it because you look so bloody hot when you're angry. Oh, you are looking rather miffed right now, aren't you? Not a morning person either I take it? But boy do you look hot. At which point I slam her up against the wall and fuck her brains out, as Blaise so eloquently put it. Please. I think I should kill myself now and save myself the embarrassment. Which once again raises an important issue: why am I still standing here?

"She won't open the door for you if you don't knock, Malfoy," a voice said from behind me, and I turned to see Weasley's non-boyfriend standing a few feet away at another door, a small traveling bag at his feet. He locked the door before picking up the bag and coming towards me. "Despite all the stuff she says about you, I thought you would be able to at least figure that out."

"She talks about me?" I asked before I could stop myself. Why do I care if she talks about me? I know it all has to be bad stuff. She is Weasley after all. She is incapable of saying anything nice about me, just as I am incapable of saying anything nice about her.

"Endlessly," he replied dryly, flipping through the keys that were still in his hand. "Sometimes I want to bash her head against the table to get her to shut up."

I stared at him as he continued to flip through an excessive amount of keys on his key ring. Endlessly? Am I that horrible that she has to talk about me that much? Do I make her that worked up even when I am not around? And why is this new information making me more excited than it sanely should? Oh yes, that's why. I am no longer sane.

"What are you doing?" I asked, as he finally chose a key and slid it into Weasley's lock.

"Opening the door," he said slowly, looking at me as though I wasn't quite right. "I think even a toddler could figure that one out."

"I know what you're doing, you git," I snapped, frowning at him, feeling irritation begin to flow through me. "Why are you doing it?"

"Well, seeing as I want to get into her flat," he began to say slowly and I glared at him, letting the irritation that was flaring inside me to show through to him. He stopped moving and glared back at me, his eyes narrowing. This went on for a moment before he finally sighed. "Fine, have it your way. She was sloshed last night when I came in to check on her, and I suspect she won't be able to function properly unless someone gives her a proper kick."

I frowned at that. Is the woman really an alcoholic? It is sure beginning to seem like it. Two drunken nights in the past few weeks? I wonder what it is that sets her off. Why do I even care?

"And why is it that you feel that she needs to be checked up on?" I asked, not really thinking about the question until I had spoken it. "She's a grown woman. She can take care of herself."

"That's what she says," the blond replied with a shrug. "But I know better. Ginny couldn't take care of herself if the world depended on it."

"Perhaps if people had more faith in her she might actually be able to take care of herself," I snapped back.

I mentally stopped at that. Why is it exactly that I am defending Weasley from her non-boyfriend? Was it not bad enough that I warned Hudson away from her that I have to try and prove something to this bloke? The bloody woman can fight her own battles, she doesn't need me, and I certainly don't want her to need me.

The blond stood there and stared at me impassively, hand on Weasley's doorknob. I stared back at him, keeping my thoughts to myself. I know I shouldn't have said anything. What does it make me look like if I am standing here, defending her to her friend? I don't even like the bloody woman, so why do I keep trying to protect her? It just doesn't make sense. But then, I don't think I want to understand, perhaps my head will implode if I do.

"I don't like you Malfoy," he finally said, his face going back into a frown.

"I am not particularly fond of you either," I replied, crossing my arms, and frowning back.

"Well, as long as we have that established," he said, turning the key and causing the lock to open with a click. "You can help me drag her into bed and then I can be on my way." I raised an eyebrow at that, though I could care less where he has to go. "I have a trip to go on, and I am scheduled to leave in half an hour." He glanced at his watch as if to make sure. "Not that it is of any concern to you, I'm sure."

I remained silent in agreement, and waited as he opened the door and walked into Weasley's flat. I stood there, staring after him as he pulled the key out of the lock and moved away from the doorframe. I suddenly had a very bad feeling about being here. It's as if something is telling me to turn around and run away as fast as I possibly can in the other direction. To get away from whatever I will find in Weasley's flat. I shook the feeling off though and walked in. I can tell you what I will fin in here, a mess.

I stopped short when I could actually see the room that I had entered. I had been expecting a mess, but this is a little excessive. There's paint everywhere; on the floor, on the walls, on the couch – which had been moved. I think there is even some on the ceiling, though can't tell if it is new or old, since I never looked up there the last time I was here. I looked around again, spotting nearly a dozen empty bottles of what appeared to be peach coolers. Well, at least she's not into hard liquor, though I don't see how it makes a difference.

Several canvases also seemed to have been thrown across the room, as the frame of one was splintered, causing the canvas, which was lying face down, to warp and wrinkle. Tubes of paint seemed to have been thrown as well for they were scattered about the room, in various states of openness. All the easels had been knocked over, save for one, which held a huge canvas that was absolutely covered in paint.

"Close the door, will you?" the non-boyfriend called from the kitchen, where he was rustling around in there. I glanced back and closed the door, then looked around again, my eyes returning to the large canvas.

I frowned at it, taking a few steps closer to it as though drawn towards it. The colours were shifting, moving. If it is possible for colours to do so they looked trapped, angry and, well, sad. I glanced around the room, at the disorder of the place, then back to the painting. I realized then that that was how she was feeling when she had painted it. That I had caused her to feel that way. That I was what set her off all because I decided that I find her attractive when she is angry. The betrayed look she had given me last night suddenly came back in full force.

"Margh," I heard someone mutter from behind me, and I turned to see the displaced chesterfield. My eyes skimmed over it until they came to rest on a naked foot.

Weasley's naked foot.

I blinked.

She couldn't be completely naked, could she? I glanced around the room again, only to find a dress tossed haphazardly onto the couch. I blinked again. Perhaps I really should have run away when I had the chance. I really don't want to see what Weasley looks like in her knickers, do I? Why is some bloody part of me saying yes? Dammit.

"Rashg," she muttered this time, and the naked foot twitched ever so slightly. I swallowed thickly, suddenly finding way too many fluids in my mouth than were there a few moments ago.

"I need her awake enough to make conversation," the blond called from the kitchen, pots clanging in the background. I glared in his general direction.

"Then you can bloody well wake her up," I snapped at him, looking from the opening into the kitchen to the naked foot of Weasley. What the hell does he think I am? The maid service?

"I need to feed that thing she calls a pet," he snapped back, his voice getting louder as he entered the room, a large steel bowl in his hands which was filled with food. He glanced down to where the rest of Weasley had to be, and smirked at me slightly. "She's not indecent, if that's what's turned you pink."

"Malfoys do not turn pink," I growled at him, suddenly becoming aware that my cheeks had heated up. I glared at him to keep face. He snorted at me and moved out onto the balcony, out of sight.

This is ridiculous. Since when does the idea of a naked woman make me turn pink? And she's not even completely naked, or so he says. All I know is that her foot is naked, and I am turning pink? Bloody hell, what has she done to me! Not only can I no longer stand loose women, but the mere thought of seeing Weasley in an indecent state is causing me more angst than I ever experienced through my awkward teenage years. Where has my sanity gone?

"Grrrahj," another muttering sound greeted my ears, pulling me away from my frantic search to find my sanity. So she is indecent, or semi indecent, I should be thrilled. Have I not been thinking about her bloody body ever since I first saw her again? I should be tripping over myself to see her. But I'm not. Sod it all.

With a firm shake of my head I realized that there is only one thing to do, and that is to take the scant steps forward and see what this red headed menace looks like in her knickers, or whatever she has on, and get it over with. Then I can do what ever it is that I seem to think will make it "better", get the hell out of here and forget I ever saw her. So with this in mind I took those few steps and went around the couch, coming to a halt at what I saw.

It was in that moment that I realized I had made a grave error. I should never have come here at all. I want her to hate me, right? Because I hate her, right? Right. So, if I never tried to make anything better, then she would still hate me, right? Right. Then I would never have to deal with her again, which is what I wanted, right? Yes, it was- is. But now I had to go and complicate things. No, not just complicate things, I had to go and fuck them up and there is no turning back. I am a dead man.

Why? Because Weasley looks even hotter in that skimpy little lacy thing she is wearing, all covered in paint as she is, than when she is angry. And now that I have _seen_ it, I am never going to forget it. And since I am never going to forget it I am going to crave it. Bloody hell, I am never going to have sex ever again, am I? Unless it is with _her_, and that is never going to happen. Never. I am a dead man.

"Bloody hell, Weasley," I groaned, taking in the way she was sprawled on the floor, the lacy thing she was wearing riding high, exposing more of her body than I know she would ever want me to see. Perhaps I won't die of lack of sex after all then, perhaps when she discovers that I have seen her dressed like this she will kill me. Yes, that does sound like a good outcome doesn't it? I have completely lost it, haven't I? Merlin.

Yet as my eyes skimmed over her body, over the curves and the freckles, and her ever long legs, I couldn't help but begin to wonder. What would it be like to be with Weasley? Would that anger of hers show through then as well? Would she scream out loud or just moan her pleasure? What would she feel like under – No! I cannot be thinking like this! This is Ginny fucking _Weasley_ I am envisioning here. I can't stand her! Well, with the exception of those lulls, but most of the time I can't! I have to get out of here.

I turned on my heel and was about to leave, and hope like I have never hoped before that I could forget I was ever here. Perhaps a pensive is in order. Yes, I could remove this memory and never have to deal with it again. Or better yet, a memory charm, then there will never be a chance of me remembering this. I can go back to living a normal life, filled with one night stands that give me satisfaction with no red involved.

"Malfoy?" her voice croaked, bringing me to a halt.

I could get away right now. I could just pretend that I didn't hear her. I could leave and do all the memory removal plans I just thought about. So why am I not moving? "What are you doing here?" She paused, and then moaned, "and why does it feel like hippogriffs have been tromping all over me?"

I turned about to see that she had flung a forearm over her face, and was squinting up at me. I couldn't help but stare back at her, taking in the way her hair made her look like some sort of exotic flower, spread out on the ground like that.

"I have been asking myself the same question," I drawled back, my voice sounding more even than I thought it would be. "And as for the hippogriffs, I think about a dozen bottles of peach coolers are responsible for them."

She groaned in response to that, but didn't move, probably because moving made the hippogriff tromping feel worse. Why am I using her terminology? She really has gotten to me, hasn't she? See, I told you her insanity was contagious. I should have stayed away right from the start. I never should have stared at her ass, I never should have tried to walk her home, I never should have _actually_ walked her home, and I never should have thrown sticks for her dog. Look where it has brought me.

"How did you get in here?" she asked after a moment, frowning up at me from under her arm.

"Your gay boyfriend let me in," I told her, glancing around, looking for him. How long does it take to feed a great big beast like that? Then a thought I really didn't like much occurred to me: what if the thing had eaten him and now I am going to be left to take care of Weasley? Merlin, no.

"Zach let you in?" she asked, her voice cracking. I watched as her face creased with incomprehension. "Why would he do that?"

"How am I supposed to know?" I said, deciding that I should probably keep my eyes on her face, now that she is awake. But then, if I want her to kill me, I will have to look at the rest of her to set her off, then this whole nightmare can be over. "He just opened the door and told me you needed a proper kick before he had to leave."

"But he leaves on Saturday," she stated feebly.

"And what day do you think it is, Gin?" her non-boyfriend asked, coming back into the room. There was no longer a bowl in his hands, and neither were there any teeth marks anywhere on his body. If I didn't know any better I would say that he had taken his sweet time on purpose, though that wouldn't make sense at all. Why would he leave me alone with her if he hates me? And why would he leave me alone with her if he knows Weasley and I hate each other?

"Not Saturday?" she asked, rolling over slightly to stare at him as he slid the balcony door closed.

"Hate to break it to you, dear," the blond said, walking away from the glass doors and moving towards her. He came to a halt beside her and knelt down. "But it is Saturday."

"But you leave on Saturday," she stated again, and I couldn't help but snort.

"That I do," he said, shooting a glare my way. He turned back to her after a quick moment, his hand moving towards her face where he began to gently brush the hair off of it. I felt my chest tighten slightly, surprising me. Why should I feel jealous about her non-boyfriend pushing her hair out of her face? It's not like he would be a threat to me, even if I was interested in the blasted woman. Which I am not. He is gay, after all. He couldn't meet her needs like I could. Not that I ever will.

"But you can't leave me alone," she said in an altogether pathetic voice. The blond nodded that he could, then grasped her arm and slowly pulled it away from her face.

She blinked up at the man blearily, her usually twinkling brown eyes bloodshot and dull. I found I had to swallow once more, but not for the same reasons as before. Her face was covered in paint and makeup, though there were relatively clean tracks that seemed to have been created by streams of tears. I tried to ignore the tightening that was suddenly taking place in my chest. Tried to ignore the betrayed look that was suddenly accusing me in my head.

What's wrong with me? The sight of a broken Weasley should not be causing me to feel as guilty as if I had just killed my own mother. I should be rejoicing that the damned woman finally fell, by my actions no less. But for the life of me I can't convince myself that this is a good thing, I can't convince myself that I shouldn't feel bad about it. What has she done to me?

"I don't plan to," the blond was replying. He sent a glance my way which dragged me away from my attempt to figure out what Weasley has done to me. I frowned at him. "I have found the perfect person to stay here and make sure that you don't drown yourself in the bathtub or something."

It took me a moment to figure out exactly what he was saying before I could exclaim, "like hell I am going to stay here." The last thing I need is to be left alone with her when she is wearing _that_.

Weasley frowned at the man crouched beside her, then looked towards me. She looked back to the blond man, then back at me, finally her eyes widened in understanding.

"You can't leave me with him!" she all but shrieked, her voice cracking once more. "He'll eat me!"

"I most certainly will not," I snapped back with indignation. What does she think I am? A cannibal? Does she think I will just grab her ever long leg and say "here, let me gnaw on this for you"? And why is that phrase bringing all sorts of wrong images to my mind? Oh right, because I'm insane!

"See, he won't eat you," the bummer said soothingly, petting her hair. I glared at him. "He's the perfect candidate."

"Only because I had the misfortune of standing outside her door when you came here," I growled at him, only causing him to turn and smirk at me.

"That's beside the point," he replied, and I could have sworn I saw a glint of triumph in his eyes. Though as to why it would be there is beyond me. I think it's another one of those things that I really do not want to figure out.

He dropped his eyes back down to the red head before him, and he smiled down on her. "You'll be perfectly fine," he assured her, then dropped a kiss on her forehead. "You have all of my numbers, and I have fed that beast of yours, so I will see you in three and a half weeks."

He got up and began to move away, as though he didn't want to hear anymore of what she had to say. But she croaked his name as he reached for the door, bag once again in his hand. He stopped and looked back at her, and she rolled again so that she was facing him once more. "Have a good time."

"You know I will," he replied, grinning at her. He pulled the door open then paused, turning to look at me. "If I hear that you left her like this, Malfoy, I will make sure that you are castrated in the most painful way possible." He levelled a glare at me, then left the flat, closing the door behind him.

I blinked at the closed door, feeling suddenly trapped. It wasn't because of his threat, as I know he is not capable of carrying it out, and it wasn't because the flat was small either. It was because there was a half naked Weasley lying on the ground at my feet, glaring up at me. I should have left when I had the chance. Why did I stay? Why did I come here to make things better? Obviously an apology isn't going to make a lick of difference, and I never should have even thought it could. I have never apologised to a Weasley before, so why should I start now? And look at where it has gotten me, trapped with her in her flat. Well, I should just leave, I should just go. There is nothing holding me here. And yet even as I planned to take my first step I knew it would never actually happen.

"Figures," I heard her mutter darkly, her voice still gruff, and turned to see that she was trying to get up. I stared down on her, watching as she struggled to get her limbs to support her weight. She stopped at sitting up, and I could tell by the colour of her face that whatever kind of hangover she has is not a good one. Not that a hangover is ever a good thing, now that I think about it. "Of all the people he can leave me with, he leaves me with you."

"It's not like I want to be here, Weasley," I sneered, glaring at her. She glared back at me, raising one of her hands and putting it onto the back of the couch. She slowly began to force herself into a standing position, trying to bring her legs under her. The lacy thing slowly fell back into place, going down to mid thigh before it stopped.

"Then why don't you just leave?" she demanded, her voice cracking again. It almost sounded as if she had been screaming as well as crying last night. I watched her silently, not wanting to respond to why I can't seem to make myself leave, as I should. If I can't explain it to myself, I certainly will not be able to explain it to her.

She finally got into a standing position, glaring at me while clutching her head. She then slowly waddled her way around the couch and equally as slowly lowered herself onto it. She didn't bother to bring her legs up onto it. Rather she left them spread open slightly with her feet on the ground.

What is this woman trying to do? Kill me? I planted my eyes firmly on her face and tried not to look at the view I don't think she realizes that she is giving me. Or at least, I hope she doesn't realize, because I think I would have to kill myself if she did. It's just a wrong thought, though not as unpleasant as it should be.

"Thanks," she said bitterly in her croaky voice, clutching her head once more. I frowned at her.

"What would you like me to do? Scoop you up into my arms and put you to bed?" I sneered, crossing my arms and glaring back at her.

"Well, it would be a start," she hissed, beginning to massage her temple. "Since you don't seem to want to leave, you could at least make yourself useful and get me an aspirin or something."

"I am not your servant Weasley," I informed her, then turned and headed towards the kitchen.

"If you were I'd beat you," she called over the back of the couch as I moved away. Far too many ideas ran through my mind at that and I couldn't help but smirk despite myself. This is just so wrong.

"Is that an offer?" I asked, coming to a stop in the kitchen's entrance. I leaned against the frame, staring at the red hair I could just see over the back of the couch.

"Get stuffed," she croaked, not even bothering to lift her head and glare at me.

"You wish," I replied, then disappeared into the kitchen before I could hear her reply.

Without giving the matter much thought I began to go through her kitchen, pulling out the items that I would need. It was just like how I ended up at her office last night, and at her door this morning, I didn't even realize I was doing it until all the ingredients were laid out before me on her counter. I looked at them, frowning slightly as I realized she was missing a couple. So I went on the hunt again, getting substitutes and sneezing as dust assaulted my nose.

Now I really know that there is something wrong with me. Not only am I still here, but I am trying to make her something for her hangover as well. Why don't I leave? Why don't I just turn around and walk away right now? There is nothing holding me back, nothing forcing me to stay here, not really anyways, and yet I can't leave. Just because the bloody woman looks disgustingly attractive, and has wormed her way into my brain, does not mean that I can't leave. In fact, those two reasons, along with the fact that she is a Weasley, should have me running, as I had felt the need to do before. Instead of running though I am putting all the ingredients into a pot and am stirring them all up properly. What is wrong with me? I never even made The Cheating Bitch a potion for her hangovers, so why am I making one for Weasley?

I shook my head. Fine, I will just give her the blasted potion, then she will be fine. And then I will no longer have an obligation to be here, because she will no longer be in need of the care the bummer thinks she requires. She doesn't need me here, and I certainly don't want to be here, do I? Of course not.

It took ten minutes before the potion was ready, after which I grabbed a mug and put some into it. I waved my wand and sent all of the ingredients back to where I had found them, not thinking about doing that task either. I should have just left them all lying about, so that she could deal with them, but I didn't. Why didn't I?

I moved back into the other room, towards the couch, only to find that Weasley had not moved. The dress that had been tossed onto the couch was draped over her face though, and my lips tugged themselves up into a grin, though they shouldn't have.

"Why can't you cover that face of yours everyday?" I asked, setting the mug down on the table and looking down on her. Then perhaps I wouldn't have to see those blasted twinkling eyes of yours.

"Screw off," she said, her voice slightly muffled by the dress. I reached out and snatched it off of her, causing her to scowl up at me.

"I think I should have left it on," I drawled, taking in the smeared disaster that was her face. I glanced down on the dress in my hands, and felt the urge to use it to wipe her face clean with it. I stopped at that. How can I want to clean her bloody face? Is it not bad enough that I am still here, making her a hangover potion? What is wrong with me?

"Har har," she said dryly, closing her eyes. I frowned down on her, looking at her paint covered skin, then dropped the dress onto the couch. I don't know how anyone can manage to get that much paint on themselves. There is paint all over her, making it seem as though she took a brush and attacked herself as well as her canvas. And for some reason it almost seems to make her look more attractive than when she is angry. I shook my head violently then took out my wand and pointed it at her.

"_Scourgify_," I said, watching as all the paint suddenly disappeared off of her body, leaving only the overly pale freckled skin. Skin that I should not want to be running my hands over. It's diseased with freckles. Too many bloody attractive freckles. Merlin, now even her blasted freckles seem attractive. I have to get out of here. Quickly. Before I do something I will truly regret.

"I could have done that," she said, looking at me through makeup-free eyes.

"Then why didn't you?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. She stared back at me, as though trying to think up an answer. After not finding a suitable one she gave me the finger.

I shrugged back, reaching down and taking the mug into my hands, then offered it to her. "Drink this."

"That's not an aspirin," she said, looking at the mug, but not taking it. I scowled at her.

"It's better than any Muggle drug will ever be," I snapped, "now take it so I can get out of here."

"Fine," she hissed, snatching it out of my hands. She looked into the mug for a moment, sniffing at it, then took a cautious sip of it. She seemed taken aback by something then continued to drink it, glaring over the rim at me all the while. When she had finished she shoved the mug back at me. "There. Happy?"

"Immensely," I drawled, taking the mug and putting it back onto the table. "How do you feel?"

She stared at me for a moment then frowned. "Sleepy. You sure this stuff is supposed to be better than a Muggle drug? Aspirin doesn't make you feel sleepy."

I frowned back at her. It shouldn't make her feel sleepy. She should be feeling energized and awake and completely over her hangover so that I can leave. I thought quickly over what I had put into the potion, trying to figure out what it was that I had done wrong. There is nothing in the potion that could be lethal to begin with, but I had added three different ingredients from what I usually do, though there is no reason that they should make her feel sleepy. I felt a jolt of fear go through me. What did I do wrong?

"You're supposed to feel sleepy," I snapped, trying to keep her from knowing that something really is wrong. The last thing I need is for her to start panicking and not let me figure out what to do. "Now get to bed before I have to carry your overlarge ass over there."

"Screw you," she hissed, breaking into a yawn shortly after. Once again she struggled to get up and began to shuffle her way towards the door I had been eyeing the last time I had been in here. But now is not the time to think about the things that could go on in there. Nothing like that can ever happen if she falls over and dies.

I quickly went over what I had put into the pot and in which order. Nothing seemed out of place, until I added the third substitute ingredient. I instantly felt myself relax. The bat hairs I had used counteracted the other ingredients that would make her wake up, and instead left the rest of the ingredients, which would naturally make her sleepy, unchanged. Thus why she feels sleepy. Nothing wrong at all, with the exception of me not realizing what they would do to the potion in the first place, but nothing to cause a panic. Though as to why I would panic over Weasley is beyond me. It's not like- ok, I know that will be a lie.

Something thumped the ground across the room, and I looked over just in time to see Weasley on her knees, falling forward to the ground, unconscious.

"Shit," I swore, hurrying forward and kneeling down beside her. She was resting on her stomach, her hair covering her face. I reached out and carefully rolled her over, absentmindedly pushing her hair away from her face. Her chest was rising and falling as though she was in a deep sleep, and after checking her pulse I realized that was exactly what she was in.

Without a second thought I scooped her up into my arms, and stood up. She was heavier than I expected her to be, but not so much so that I couldn't manage. She is quite a bit taller than The Cheating Bitch, so it would make sense that they wouldn't weigh the same. Why do I keep comparing the two of them? It's not like I am engaged to marry Weasley. And I never will be. So it doesn't make sense to compare the two.

I moved towards her bedroom, trying to get away from my thoughts, using my foot to nudge the door open. The bed was a jumble of blankets, obviously never having been made. Somehow it didn't surprise me. I put her onto the bed then reached down for the covers crumpled at her feet.

I should have left. I never should have stayed to see this, to see the way her chest raises and falls, the way her eyelashes rest against her cheekbones, the way her hair cascades down over her pillow. I never should have stayed here to find out what she looks like in this blasted lacy thing. I never should have tried to make things better for her, for they have only made things worse for me. I am going to have the image of her like this imprinted into my brain, and I am never going to be able to get rid of it. Ever. Every time I see her, I am going to know what she looks like under her clothes, well, at least the parts of her I can see with this lacy thing on. But I will still know. And it's going to drive me nuts, because I also know I will never see her like this again. Blast it.

With a violent shake of my head I tugged the covers up over her body until they were to her chin. There, now I can't see her anymore. But as I said she would, she is still in my mind's eye, lying there, just waiting to be- no. This has to stop. Now. This is insane. There are other fish in the sea, why do I have to be becoming obsessed with this one?

With another shake of my head I turned and left the room, not looking back as I closed the door behind me. The click of the knob sent a chill through my body. If only I could close a door to what I can't seem to get out of my head. If only I could lock her out of my mind as easily as I closed this door. It's impossible though, and I know it. She's not leaving. Ever.

--o--

I rolled over in my bed, feeling more rested than I have felt in a very long time. To add to that wonderful feeling my blankets feel extra warm and soft, you know how they feel when you know you have to wake up but your bed doesn't want you to? And I don't have anything to kick me out of my bed, since looking out the window it looks as though the sun hasn't quite risen yet. That means a few more hours of sleep, which is just excellent. With a smile on my face I proceeded to burry my head into my pillow once more.

But wait, how did I manage to get myself into bed? I don't remember getting into it, let alone going near my bedroom. All I really remember is Percy yelling at me, telling me that my life is going nowhere, and then me getting some alcohol and coming back here. And I painted of course, but I didn't go to bed. This is strange. And now that I think about it, I did have a very odd dream. But then, why would Zach ever be so cruel as to let Malfoy into my flat and leave me with him? That's the kind of stuff that only happens in a nightmare.

No, it must have just been a nightmare, a terrible one. I just must have managed to somehow drag myself into bed before I passed out. Yes, that's it. That makes sense. And I never really remember much near the end anyways. But come to think about it, I don't feel the slight bit hung-over. Actually I feel quite energetic, which should definitely not be happening if I really did get drunk, or even just went to sleep. What was I drinking? Peach coolers. With all that sugar, I should be feeling them for a good day, but I'm not. Why not?

Or maybe I never did get drunk. That would explain my not being hung-over. Perhaps it was all just a dream, that I dreamt about being tormented by Malfoy and going to dinner with my brothers. That I dreamt about Percy screaming that my life is going nowhere. That I dreamt about getting plastered and rampaging about my flat, throwing that picture I painted of Malfoy at the wall, along with most of my paint tubes. That I dreamt about Zach letting Malfoy in, leaving him to take care of me. It would make a lot more sense. Yes, looking out the window, the sun is just rising, so unless Malfoy made me pass out for an entire day, which I doubt, then I still have time to sleep. And if I still have time to sleep then today is Friday, thus all that I thought happened couldn't have. Good. It was a dream. It had to be.

Makes me wonder though as to what my subconscious was trying to tell me with that dream. I am a very strong believer that your subconscious silently watches you through the day, taking in all that goes on, especially things that your conscious does not pick up on. It can tell where things are going, far before you do, and warns you about them through your dreams. It's just a matter of trying to figure out what the dreams mean.

But as for this dream, with Malfoy picking my tour apart, and my brothers having a conniption over my change in careers, I don't know what it could mean. I almost want to take it literally, that none of them will approve, but dreams don't work that way. Not usually anyway. I wonder if-

There was a sneeze outside my door, then another. I must have let Sneazel in before I went to bed. But of course I did, because I was never drunk so I would have let him inside like I always do before I go to bed. I don't like to leave him outside on the balcony over night. He can go back out if he wants to, but he usually sleeps in the basket at the foot of my bed. Funny that he's not there though. He usually sleeps longer than I do. He is a big dog and is getting up in his years – even though I hate to think about it – and he needs his sleep.

"Sneazel," I called, my voice coming out a bit weaker than I had expected it to. I shrugged that off as a side effect of sleeping so well.

I listened for my puppy's claws to click against the floor, but I didn't hear them. Perhaps he didn't hear me, which doesn't make much sense because that dog can hear anything as long as he isn't too deep within his igloo. Maybe he's ignoring me then, but as to why he would do that I can't even begin to rationalize.

"Sneazel," I called again, louder this time. I listened closer but the sound of movement that greeted my ears was far from the clicking I had been expecting. Instead I heard footsteps.

Fear gripped me and I could feel goose bumps rising all along my skin. Instinctively, while keeping my eyes glued on the door, I reached under my pillow for my wand. My hand groped for a moment, but I couldn't find it. With even more dread falling into my stomach I sat up and pulled the pillow away, still looking at the door, then quickly glanced down to see where my wand could have gone. I always put it under my pillow. Always. But it wasn't there. At that moment the door creaked open.

"Ah, so you're finally awake," an all too familiar voice drawled from the doorway. I snapped my head around, feeling a fresh wave of dread.

"It wasn't a dream?" I asked, looking at Malfoy as though he was the first sign of the apocalypse. And really, he could be, if all that I think happened last night and this morning actually did. He frowned at me.

"You didn't bump your head, did you?" he asked, staying where he was but frowning at me.

I stared at him. Merlin, it really did happen. Zach really did leave me with him. How could he? He knows how much I hate this git! Why would he just up and leave me with him? And how did he get him here anyway? Did he owl him or something? Oh no, he couldn't have. And even if he did, what would he have said? Hey Malfoy, why don't you come over here and baby-sit the red head that you've been stalking for the past few weeks? I know she hates you, but it could be fun if you just give it a chance. What the hell? And why would he even come if Zach did send a letter like that!

"Weasley," Malfoy said, his voice much closer than it had been before. I looked up to find him standing beside the bed, looking down on me. I looked up at him, feeling my eyes go wide. "Bloody hell, what's the matter with you?"

"Why are you here?" I demanded a bit more forcefully than I had intended. Malfoy blinked then the usual deadpan expression slid over his slightly concerned expression. Slightly concerned? Why didn't I notice that before it disappeared?

"I've been asking myself the same question for the past ten hours," he said, his voice a lot colder than it had been before. I looked at him with surprise, not so much at his tone, for the git is always snarling for no reason, but at what he had said.

"You've been here that long?" I asked, feeling awed. Ok, say I can understand his being here in the first place, but I cannot possibly comprehend why he would stay. There is nothing to keep him here.

"No," he replied, his tone softening ever so slightly. "I left a few times."

"Oh," was all I could manage to say.

I didn't know what to say after that. And really, what could I say? Thank you? If memory serves correct he was an ass the entire time he was helping me out, if that is even what you could call it. Why did he stay though? There was certainly not a reason to keep him here. You can't possibly tell me that he actually wanted to make sure I was alright, could you? But then, he has walked me home a couple of times, and he did throw a ball for Sneazel... No, those were isolated incidences. They mean nothing in the long run. Nothing. This is just another one of those. Yes, that's what it is.

A bark from somewhere in my flat drew me out of my thoughts about why Malfoy was still here, and seconds later Sneazel came bounding into my room, tail wagging. I smiled at him, but my smile fell slightly as he moved his over-furred body towards Malfoy and dropped a chew ring at his feet. Then the dog looked up at the bloody blond – who, might I add, is practically looming over me – obviously expecting him to play a game of tug-of-war.

How could he? What if Malfoy was going to attack me? He's in my bedroom for pity's sake! If Zach were to try this Sneazel would be snarling like there's no tomorrow. Why the hell isn't he doing this to Malfoy? Why are all the males that I trust suddenly leaving me like a sacrifice for Malfoy!

"I didn't know what the thing's supposed to eat so I left him be. I think he's hungry though because he's been eyeing me for the past hour or so," Malfoy said, staring down on Sneazel. I watched in horrid fascination as he kicked the chew toy, sending it skittering back out into the main room and my dog chassed after it, tail wagging furiously. I glanced up at his face, to see a ghost of a smile on his lips. What's going on!

I must still be dreaming. It's the only explanation. I am just taking that experience that I had when Malfoy ran into us at the park, and I am just carrying it through. Though as to why I would want to do that is beyond me. So what if Malfoy was nice to my dog that day? Doesn't mean that he will always be nice to him. He was probably just trying to make friends so that he can come in here and kill me or something without Sneazel attacking him. So why am I trying to see, through this dream, what it would be like if he really were just genuinely nice to my dog?

With all this in mind I pinched myself. Hard.

"Ow!" I said, surprised at how much it had actually hurt. Who knew I could pinch that hard. Well, probably the brothers who I have pinched over the years. Now I think I understand why they were always screaming bloody murder at me about it.

Malfoy turned and looked at me, a frown on his face. "Now what are you doing to yourself?" he demanded. I glared up at him, then glanced down on my arm, which was turning rather red. I noticed something odd then.

"Where's my dress?" I asked, frowning and taking in the fact that I am wearing several layers too few. In fact, I am only sitting here in my slip; the extra sluty one that I had bought when I was rather depressed and decided that I needed something skanky to feel attractive again. Of course this is what I have to be wearing when bloody Malfoy decides to stop by. Wait, he didn't-

"It's on the couch," he said, interrupting my train of thought. "It was there when I came in."

"I would hope so," I snapped, glaring up at him, only to find him looking at me. But not at my face, no at the barley covered parts of me, small though they might be. I crossed my arms over my chest, forcing him to look back up at my face.

"Why Weasley, you think I would actually try to take advantage of you in your drunken stupor?" he drawled, now having the gall to smirk down on me. I felt my mouth fall open ever so slightly. "Don't flatter yourself."

"You asshole!" I exclaimed, scrambling out of my bed and onto my bare feet. I glared up at him and poked him in the chest, feeling sorter than usual for some reason. "Sure, I am not the most attractive thing that you have ever seen, probably far from with your lifestyle, but I am still human you know." I poked him again, ignoring the pain that shot up my finger each time I did so. "Just because you don't like me doesn't mean that you have to make it sound like the thought of touching me compares to having to dig through a truckload of garbage!"

"Are you saying," he began with a drawl, an amused smirk on his lips. I wanted to smack it off of him. "That you _want_ me to touch you?"

"No!" I yelled at him. "And you would do well to remember that!" I shoved him backwards this time, towards the door. "Now get out of here so I can put some damned clothes on!"

"I take it you are feeling better then," he sneered at me, taking a step back, then turning around and heading towards the door.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" I demanded.

"Nothing," he replied with a shrug, grasping the door with his overlong fingers, "just that you are so much more pleasant when you are unconscious."

"Out!" I practically shrieked, pointing at the main room. I watched, feeling my blood boil, as he continued to smirk and closed the door behind him. I glared at it for a moment, practically seeing red, then suddenly deflated.

What the hell is wrong with me? Moody much? Why the hell did I blow up like that at him? Well, I suppose the fact that my bestest friend left me in his care could make me a little unstable. Oh, and I suppose my dog, my other best friend, getting along with him, doesn't hurt either. And finally having been knocked out by him, while he was supposed to be taking care of me, could possibly add to it too as well. What the hell did he give me anyways? If not for being knocked out cold for who knows how long, it worked like a miracle drug.

With a sigh I sank back down onto my bed, dropping my head into my hands. It still gives me no reason to blow up at him like that, regardless of who he is. He still stayed here, for over ten hours apparently, and tried to help me out, in a Malfoyish way of course, but he still did. That should count for something, shouldn't it? But no, apparently it shouldn't because he is Malfoy. If it was anyone else I would be thinking warm thoughts, but I just can't. He's still bloody Malfoy.

But I am still not grasping this though, why would he stay? What's my wellbeing to him? He hates me. He obviously doesn't want anything of a physical nature, from the tone of his voice, so what then?

With an irritated hiss I got to my feet and made my way towards my wardrobe. I pulled it open and looked into the mirror, feeling my shoulders drop further. No wonder his voice carried such disdain, I look like hell. And why am I clinging to that tone of his voice? It's not like I want him to find me attractive, or Merlin forbid, desirable. I don't know if I could handle it if he did.

Without further thought I took the slip off and changed into a fresh set of undergarments, jeans and a shirt. Then I grabbed my brush and forced my hair into the tightest ponytail I could manage. Once I was sure nothing was going to fall out of it, I turned and headed over to my door, only to stop.

Now what? I've already yelled at the git, after he stayed here for so long, so now what do I do? Do I try to make it up to him? Do I thank him? Do I pretend I didn't just blow up at him? Do I make him tea? Dinner? Maybe, if I am really lucky, he will have left already.

A set of sneezes shot that hope down to hell. Blast.

Well, there's nothing for it. All I can do is go out there, take in the situation, and go with it. Knowing Malfoy though, well, I'll just stop there. I opened my door and walked out into my sitting room and makeshift studio. Malfoy was lounging on the couch, scratching my puppy's head, which was resting on his knee. My puppy, for his part, was staring up at Malfoy with adoring, mismatched eyes. I felt my throat tighten up.

Sneazel has fallen in love with Malfoy. Bloody hell. He has hated all of my boyfriends, not to mention Zach, so why the hell has he fallen for Malfoy? He only took to my brothers, well, save Percy, this well. So why, out of all the men I have ever introduced to him, that I am not related to, does he have to fall in love with _Malfoy_?

"Seems like you've found yourself a friend," I said, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. But really, he comes in here and is a complete ass, and now he is stealing my best friend away from me? How could I not be at least a little bitter?

I watched as Malfoy shrugged. "This dog is incredibly needy," he drawled, glancing back at me with a smirk. "I provide what I can, since you obviously don't." He scratched my puppy's ear. "The poor mutt."

"He's not a mutt," I snapped, crossing my arms over my now properly covered chest. "He is as pure blooded as you and I." Then I paused. "And I provide him with enough attention for three dogs. It's not my fault that he sucks up to anyone and everyone and acts as though I don't."

"He doesn't seem to like your gay friend all that much," he drawled, shooting yet another smirk at me. I scowled at him, wishing with all my might that his head would explode.

"Well Zach's special," I sneered, then turned on my heel and went into my kitchen.

I glowered at the memory of Zach just up and leaving, as if he couldn't get away fast enough. I hope he has an absolutely dreadful time in Mexico. Maybe he will have some nasty encounter with contaminated water or something. He deserves it after pulling this stunt. I mean really, who leaves their bestest friend with someone that they barely know? Not to mention when their bestest friend has ranted for hours about how much they really, _really_ hate the person they are being left with.

I frowned at the thought. Have I really ranted for hours about how much I hate Malfoy? Is that even sane? It's not like he's in my life twenty-four seven. Well ok, he does show up everywhere I am. Everywhere. And at the most inopportune times too, but still, hours? Do I have nothing better to rant about? Well, now I have Percy to rant about, but where is my bestest friend now that I have something different to talk about? Oh yes, on a last minute vacation. Figures.

Pushing my lips out into a pout, simply because I felt like it, I began to make tea. I set the water boiling then went about the kitchen gathering the things I would need. I frowned slightly as I realized that things were not in their places. Malfoy must have been shoving things around when he made whatever it was that he had made. I hate it when people move things around in my space. Not only can I not find anything afterwards, but it's just plain rude.

"You know, it's no wonder you're single, Weasley." Malfoy's drawl invaded my ears, causing me to scowl. "If you wander around in public looking like that, people will think that you are insane." I heard him take a seat at the island in the center of my small kitchen.

"Well, I don't see you with anyone either, Malfoy," I spat back, putting my lips back into their rightful place. Sometimes I think that I should not be allowed to exist, especially when I do stuff like that. "Perhaps you aren't as sane as you think you are."

"Women would still throw themselves at me even if I claimed that I was Napoleon," he informed me, looking so smug that I had the urge to whack him in the head with the teakettle. I restrained myself though, because I am rather fond of the duck pattern on this one. I wouldn't want his hard head denting it and forcing me to buy a new one. I don't think they sell this kind anymore.

"Women throw themselves at you?" I asked, scoffing at the idea. Well, I suppose he is attractive enough, in his arrogant, icky Malfoy way. And any woman who doesn't know what he really is could be convinced that he is perhaps half decent. If she is drunk... and has perhaps suffered recent brain trauma. "Somehow I find that hard to believe." I paused. "That and the fact that any woman in her right mind would want to sleep with Napoleon. I always thought he was an ugly mofo."

"Napoleon had money," Malfoy replied, reaching out and grabbing an apple from my fruit bowl. I frowned at him as he casually bit into it. Sure, just help yourself. See if I care.

"Which is probably the only reason you get any," I informed him, turning away and hunting through a drawer for my tea strainer. "It certainly couldn't be for your looks."

"If that's how it works, then when was the last time you had sex?" he asked, smirking at me. "Never?"

"Har har," I said dryly, closing the drawer and moving to the next one. Ahah. Stupid thing. I can never find it. I jammed the tea leaves into it then went to get the sugar. "Do you want cream or sugar in your tea?"

"Neither," he replied, taking another bite of his apple. I could hear the crunch from here. "And don't change the subject."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I said with a shake of my head. "As the only thing I ever want to talk about is how riveting my sex life is."

"Really?" he asked me, surprise evident in his voice. Well fuck you too buddy. That didn't come out right. At all.

"As you pointed out before, I am single," I said, grabbing two mugs from one of the cupboards.

"You don't need to be attached to anyone to find satisfaction," he replied. I stopped at that. I should have guessed that he was the type that slept around, though as to why I didn't is beyond me. And why is the thought of it making me mad all over again? I don't care that Zach does it, so why should the fact that Malfoy does it bother me? I can't actually think that he is the type to settle down, can I? Not when there are millions of women out there just dying to bed him. Why am I even thinking this? It's not like I want him. They can have him. And rip him to pieces while they're at it.

"I don't sleep with random people, Malfoy," I said, turning around with a frown on my face. It's just something I have never really been comfortable with. Sure, it has its carnal appeal, no attachment, no emotions, just sex, right? You get rid of that nasty desire to be filled, and don't have to deal with other people's issues while you're at it. Yet every time I've done it, I always feel more alone afterwards than satisfied. So I don't make a point of doing it. "But if you have no problem with it, then good for you."

The teakettle began to whistle, snapping my attention back to reality and what we were just talking about. Why am I discussing my nonexistent sex life with Malfoy of all people? It's not bad enough that he had to find out what I look like in my underwear, that I now have to inform him about my personal life as well? Have I no shame? No sanity? Apparently not.

Sneazel ran into the kitchen at this time, surprisingly coming straight towards me instead of his new best friend, Malfoy. He usually runs in here when he hears the kettle go off, though I don't know why. He just always has.

There was a thud, and I glanced down to find his chew ring at my feet. I smiled down on him ever so slightly, then slipped my foot into it as I usually do. Ha. See if Malfoy would think to do this. All he seemed to have thought of was to kick it away. Merlin, why am I competing with Malfoy for my dog's affections?

I shuffled over to the kettle, taking the ring, and in turn my puppy – who always tries to jerk it off my foot – with me and stopped the whistling noise. I don't know why I even have one of these blasted whistling things. They give me the creeps when they go off, always have.

I took the kettle to the counter and dropped the tea strainer into it, then brought it, along with the mugs, over to the island, still shuffling, to where Malfoy was frowning at me. I frowned back at him then returned to the counter and got the sugar.

Sneazel barked up at me, then again at the chew ring. He got a hold of it and gave a mighty tug, which almost made me lose my balance. I grinned down on him and shuffled back towards the island, almost completely forgiving him for looking up at Malfoy with adoring eyes.

"What on earth are you doing with your dog, Weasley?" Malfoy asked, the frown still in place.

I shot a frown back at him, then sat down. Sneazel yanked the toy off my foot and dropped down beside me, where he began to contentedly chew on the toy. Good, I don't know what I would do if he went and brought it to Malfoy right away. As a reward, I rubbed his ear with my foot. What has gotten into me?

"Playing with him," I replied, pouring tea into both mugs. I handed him his disgustingly plain tea, then began to put three spoonfuls of sugar into my own. I glanced back at him while I was stirring them in, only to find him still frowning at me. I scowled. "Now what?"

"It's a wonder you keep that figure of yours with a diet like that," he finally said. I continued to scowl.

"Are you implying that you like the look of my figure?" I asked, not quite sure if I wanted an answer.

"No, but I am sure there is someone out there who does, if you look hard enough," he replied with a smirk and I found myself sticking my tongue out at him. Oh bloody hell.

"Well, a little sugar never hurt anyone," I said, tapping the spoon against the rim of my cup and putting it down.

"Anyone who isn't diabetic you mean," he corrected me, the smirk slipping into a grin. I narrowed my eyes at him but didn't comment. Instead, I just took a sip of my delightfully sweet tea.

Great, that odd non-animosity thing is back again. It's funny how we can bicker like there is no tomorrow then turn around and get along. It's weird, and creepy actually. Not to mention wrong. As I keep telling you, I should not be getting along with the people I hate. But I can't will myself to say anything to break this odd truce. I don't think I want to understand why not, either.

"So how long do you need to know someone before they are no longer 'random'?" he asked, breaking the silence, and drawing my attention towards him once more. He was smirking again and I frowned at him in turn. This topic again? Isn't there anything else on his mind? Don't answer that.

"Why is it that you are so interested, Malfoy?" I asked, smirking a little myself. Two people can play at this game. "Are you hoping to be one of the non-random people?"

The smirk on his face didn't go away as I had hoped it would. Shit. Instead, it seemed to twist in a rather unpleasant way. "Is that an invitation?" he drawled.

"No, just an inquiry," I said back, taking a sip of my tea. Bloody git. Like I would ever want to sleep with him of all people. He is probably the most selfish lover on earth. Though I must admit, those fingers of his- Ew. Wrong. So wrong. I should not be thinking like that. Ever.

"Is it a crime to be interested in the process of getting into the pants of the Minister's daughter?" he asked smoothly, the smirk spreading.

My frown slipped into a glare at that. I don't know why, but for some reason the thought of it irked me. Is that really how people see me? That I am just some Minister's daughter whose pants they want to get into? That that title supersedes who I really am, that it is more important than me being me? Ginny Weasley? Red headed artists with the big fluffy dog? Why am I overreacting about this? It's not like I haven't heard it before. And it's not like it is anything different coming from his mouth, but at the same time it is. What's wrong with me?

"Why are you here Malfoy?" I asked, finally getting the question out that has been roaring through my head ever since I first saw him in my hung-over haze. "And don't tell me it's to figure out a way into my pants, because we both know that it's never going to happen because neither of us is interested."

"You're so sure about that, are you?" he drawled, arching an eyebrow at me. "Because I was under the distinct impression that you want me something fierce."

"Like hell I do," I spat back, ignoring the images that had suddenly awoken in my mind. Sometimes I really hate having a vivid imagination. Oh ich. No, double ich. Like I would ever want to do _that_ with him.

In response to that he simply sat there and smirked at me, which in turn caused me to narrow my eyes. He can't honestly think that I would ever want to be with him, can he? Well of course he can, he obviously has his head further up his ass than I ever gave him credit for. Oh why can't he just leave already?

I continued to glare, and surprisingly, his smirk began to fade and he took on a serious expression.

"Look Weasley," he began, glancing away from me and down to Sneazel, who had squirmed his way across the floor to sit by his feet. I hadn't even realized he had done that. "I'm sorry, alright?"

I blinked. Did he just- yes, I think he did. Draco Malfoy just apologized. To me. To _me_. Is that even possible? He has never done it before. Ever. In all the time I have known him, after all the stuff we have done to each other, he has never once offered me an apology. Ever. Not that I ever offered him one either, but still.

But what is he apologizing for?

"I felt bad about last night," he continued, and I thought my eyes would pop out of my head. He felt _bad_? About last night? Is this really happening? Am I dreaming? For real this time? I pinched myself again, but I didn't wake up. Bloody hell. This is really happening. "And I tried to do something about it then but you stormed away, so then I found myself here this morning."

I looked at his face – which was not directed at me – trying to see if this was physically hurting him. He looked a little green, but other than that nothing. I just can't believe he is saying this. An apology? A real apology? This must be the apocalypse. It has to be. Malfoys never apologise to Weasleys. Never.

"I didn't realize that you were so unstable that a little teasing would make you so upset." Wait. What? "And I certainly didn't think that it would cause you to drink yourself blind."

I stared at him. I knew it was too good to be true. I knew it. There is no way that he would actually apologize for something. Can he seriously think that I would drink myself blind like that over him tormenting me like he had when we were back in school? If that were the case I would have been an alcoholic at the age of twelve. Alright, so he did have some influence over last night's incident, but it was mainly Percy and his rant.

I looked up to find him looking at me expectantly. What, you expect me to give you a cookie now? Is that it? Or maybe I will just start crying again and drink myself blind over the joy of finally being apologized to by the likes of you? Please.

"Are you actually that self-centred that you think that last night was all about you?" I asked slowly, giving him an honest chance to correct himself. It's the least I can do, isn't it? I mean, if I am going to kill him I should at least give him the chance to defend himself, shouldn't I? "That there is absolutely nothing else happening in my life that could make me go into hysterics besides you?"

He blinked at me. Obviously he hadn't. Bastard. "Something else happened to you?" he asked. I could have sworn that I saw a flash of concern on his face, but it instantly turned into a frown. I must have been imagining things. Why would Malfoy of all people feel concerned about what could happen to me?

"Yes something else bloody well happened to me," I snapped, glaring at him.

"What happened?" he asked, still frowning at me. I let out a noise of disbelief.

"It's none of your bloody business," I said angrily. "And I don't see why you care either. Just as I can't understand why you're still here. To apologise, ok, but why stay and put up with me? Why sit around my flat and sneeze the whole time when you could be doing whatever it is that you do on a Saturday?"

"Well maybe it's because I felt sorry for you," he shot back. "Maybe I felt bad for you and your obviously horrible life."

"Sorry for me? You!" I exclaimed. "How is that possible? How could you of all people feel sorry for _me_?" I paused. "And my life is not horrible."

"What do you mean by that?" he demanded, his voice getting loud. I heard Sneazel scramble to his feet, but I didn't look to see what he was doing. All I could focus on was Malfoy and his angry face. Malfoy and his cold, grey eyes. Why have they never looked so cold before? "How could I of all people not feel sorry for you? Is there something about me that won't allow it?"

"Yes," I told him. "First off, you're a Malfoy. It's in your nature to never feel pity for those bellow you. Second you are still the same prat who tormented me in school, who took every opportunity to try and make me fall." He opened his mouth to defend himself, but I cut him off. "And you can't tell me otherwise since last night was a perfect example of it. And third, there is nothing about my life that you should feel sorry about. As I said, my life is not horrible."

He glared at me after that, looking suddenly even angrier than he had before. Why is it that with this man's expressions I never appreciate the mildness of them until they either go away or intensify? I mean, his lip is bloody well curling! I don't think I have ever seen him do that. Ever.

"Well first off," he mimicked me with a sneer. "You of all people should know that just because it is a family tradition does not mean that you should follow suit. I am not my father, and I never will be. Secondly, if you think that I am still the same 'prat', as you put it, from Hogwarts, then where the hell have you been these past few weeks? Have you heard me screaming Mudblood, or seen me tormenting Potter, or worshiping the ground my father walks on? No. I've changed, just as much as you have changed, or so I thought. I told you, I don't know what happened last night, but a relapse into childhood stupidity does not mean that I am exactly the same."

I stared at him, mouth feeling ever so slack. Now that he says it, the accusation does seem rather stupid. Actually, all of my claims that he is still the same are so far from the truth that it is laughable. The old Draco never would have walked home with me in the fog, he never would have hired me, not to mention even consider me to paint for him. He never would have thrown a ball for my dog, and he certainly would have blamed me for the article in the paper since it was my dog leash that caused it. And he most definitely would not have stayed in my flat all day, not unless he knew he was going to get something out of it. And the old Draco _never_ would have ever felt sorry for me. Never. But why did I not realize it before I screeched it out? Why did I have to wait until I couldn't take it back?

"And third," he continued to say, "the way you act it's as if your life _is_ horrible. The way that you drink yourself blind and put yourself in such hazardous conditions, makes me wonder if you even value your life at all? I mean, how many times have I caught you trying to walk home on your own? You were even drunk one time and you tried it! Do you not read the papers and find out what happens to women like you who do shit like that!"

I felt my mouth fall open at that last bit. Is that what he had been trying to do that night outside of the bar? Trying to walk me home? Was he actually looking out for my wellbeing then? For a Weasley he didn't even know? But why? Why dammit!

"Why?" I demanded, giving voice to the question running rampant in my brain. "Why do you care? What's it to you if something happens to me?"

"You know," he began, the anger slowly dropping off his face, but I could still see it just as strong behind his eyes. He was trying to mask it all of a sudden. "I don't know why. And I don't want to know why. Just as I no longer want to be here." With that, he shoved the stool he was sitting on back and headed out of the kitchen, his long legs making short work of it. I got up and scurried after him, not even aware I was doing it until I saw him reaching for his cloak.

"You can't just walk out of here after all of that," I yelled at him, watching as he moved towards the door. I suddenly dreaded him leaving. Dreaded it because all of a sudden I had a feeling that as soon as he walked out that door things between us will never be the same, ever again. Whatever it is that is between us, anyway. And for some reason that thought terrifies me. Why the hell can I never appreciate what I have before it walks out of my life?

"I can, and I am," he snapped back at me, throwing on his shoes. "Come talk to me when you've grown up." He jerked the door open and sneezed, his whole body shaking with the effort. Then he sneezed again. "And dust your fucking flat, Weasley. It's no wonder that poor mutt of yours is always sneezing." With that he stepped over the threshold, slamming the door behind him.

I stared at it, eyes wide, all the anger that had been in me gone. It had left with his sneezes. The blasted sneezes that reminded me just how different he really is now. How human he is now. He's no longer the one dimensional prat that I knew back in Hogwarts. Far from. This Draco wears glasses when he reads, and forgets that they are on his nose. This Draco cares about his mum, and will go out with her, and hold her hand, and make sure that she is alright. This Draco sneezes, just like my puppy.

Why did I not realize this before? Why didn't I listen to Zach? Why did I have to figure all of this stuff out just as he walks away? And why is it that I am acting as though I suddenly like him? I still hate him. I do. All I have realized is that he _has_ changed. Why am I going on as though he just broke up with me? It's never going to be like that. Ever. And this just proves it.

A scratch at the door brought my eyes back to it. I felt my eyes widen as I saw Sneazel sitting in front of it, head dropped low. Then he whined. Why does he have to miss Draco? And why the hell do I suddenly miss him too?

What the hell is wrong with me? Isn't this what I have wanted ever since I saw him again? For him to leave me alone? For him to die or go away and let me live my life in peace? Well, it seems like I finally got what I wished for. So why am I suddenly not happy about it?

--o--

I never should have gone to her flat. Apologize? Since when do I apologize? She had one thing right at least, I never really do, and apparently when I try it just gets thrown right back in my face, so why should I even bother? I shouldn't. It's not worth it. Nor is trying to make things better for a Weasley. It only inevitably makes things worse for me.

How could she think that I am still the same punk from Hogwarts? I am anything but. I have changed so much that it seems that that kid and I are no longer the same person. But no, she has to just focus on the bad aspects, the little things that she seems to bring out in me, and accuse me of being exactly the same. Bloody woman. If I was still the same prat I was back then why would I have stayed with her the entire time? And no, I still don't understand that bit, but I don't care. I don't understand anything about what that woman is doing to me, so why should I try to understand my staying either?

Fuck it. She's the same as all the rest. Sure, she seemed different on the outside, all odd and mysterious, but she's still the same as any other woman. She takes what she can and throws it back in my face, hoping to hit me where she thinks it will hurt the most. Well fine then, Weasley, it's the end of you. I don't care if you have wormed your way into my head, I am not going to pay attention to you anymore. As far as I am concerned you are dead to me, nonexistent, an annoying bit of memory which I will be removing. If you can't see what is in front of you, then it won't be there anymore.

But that last statement begs to ask, if I was right in front of her, why would I want her to see me? And why do I even think of myself as being something she didn't notice? What do I want? For her to want me? To fall in love with me? To- no, I can't go there. I'm done with her. Through. No matter what the hell is going through my mind. If she still thinks that I am the same as that horrible kid that I used to be, then she can very well continue on thinking that. I don't need her. I never needed her. And I don't know why the idea of my needing her is suddenly in my head. I didn't need her before her stupidity had shown through, so why would I suddenly feel like I do need her now? I don't.

Giggling caused all the thoughts raging through my head to pause. I looked up to see that my feet had carried me out of Weasley's apartment building and over to the entrance of _The_ _Joe Gargoyle_, the blasted place that Blaise is always dragging me to. I stared at the entrance. I haven't been to a bar by myself in years. But it didn't stop me from walking in alone, and it certainly did not prevent me from leaving with company. Weasley no longer matters to me, what do I care if that blasted betrayed look flashes through my mind while I fuck some other woman? It's not like she matters. She never mattered.

--o--

**Works Cited**

-"Would she scream out loud or just moan her pleasure?" – From a Babylon 5 episode where Talia's ex-husband is tormenting Garibaldi about what she would be like in bed, since he knows it's on Garibaldi's mind. The poor dear.

-"Does she think I will just grab her leg and say 'here, let me gnaw on this for you'?" – It will take too long to explain. Just look at this poorly drawn picture's explanation to understand it all: http/ dog is incredibly needy" – said by Ares, in that wonderful Xena episode "Ares had a Farm". sigh How sad I am that he's gone.

-Ginny putting Sneazel's chew toy around her ankle and shuffling around the kitchen is something that Lallie does with her puppy. Being the loony that she is of course.

--o--

A/N: Wow. So much talk about sex. Sex... Sorry. I think I might have to up the rating if this continues on, but I will tell you the chapter before if I do. Don't really know what happened there, but it did and I am too fed up with this chapter to do anything about it. And don't hate me too much. I had to make it end the way it did, otherwise what I have planned can't happen. And trust me, you will like what I have planned. You really will. I hope. Just trust me. It's not like I would ever dream of throwing your trust back in your face. Me? Never...

Many thanks to: **Dustbunnie**(Did you like the new BandB fc?)**, FemmeDraconis**(Do you really doubt that? I think I'm getting predictable... Lol)**, tulzdavampslayer**(Holy crap! What a review! It had me giggling so hard, which was great because it was just before my last exam at the UofA ever and I was feeling pretty poopy. You get a hug for that one. And damned straight it better be from old age)**, wcoast-girl**(Thanks so much for that. I will be e-mailing you about it as soon as I get my e-mail account, which is being an absolute poop at the moment, working properly again :p)**, FrogsofChocolate, imelda72, Calla-ForEvEa**(I hate when you can't review. Thanks for coming back the next day though :)**, purus.flere, imelda72**(I thought there was more than one of you, then I realized you reviewed more than once. I don't feel stupid now... Anyhoo, I didn't much care for the dinner either, but it was necessary for later on in the story. Trust me)**, kendercurrent, Erised**(Gah. Typo-s. They'll be fixed up, eventually :)**, katherose, StAlKaHoLiC**(Well, seeing as I am a Muggle myself... lol. Glad to hear from you again!)**, goddessofyesterday**(Just got to say that I love your name)**, Walreeda Myrddin**(Yay for rock and classic rock!) and **GoldenFawkes**(Probably, among other things. Oil paint is nasty stuff if you get too much into your system, which is why I don't get only banning the white, since the cads are just as bad. Glad you like it though)


	8. Dancing with Myself

Title: Paining an Oyster

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one legged lesbian seagull hotmail com (Please add 3 underscores, one "at" sign, and a period)

A/N: Well, I wasn't expecting this chapter to take quite so long, but work takes more energy than I thought it would. I usually come home and sleep, get up for a few hours then sleep some more. Bah. Anyhoo, this chapter is a little dull, but it's one of those transition chapters. Foreshadowing and all that. So yes, bare with me, the next few chapters are the fun ones. :p Oh, and if you are wondering, I wasn't sure if we were allowed to put lyrics at the top anymore, since Tulz's story got deleted for having lyrics in it, so I got paranoid and took all of mine down. Now you are going to have to download the "soundtrack" songs to get the mood of the chapter. Bah.

A/A/N: Well, I was going to put this up about two weeks ago, but there was something fishy with ffnet and try as I might I couldn't get this chapter to upload. Bah. But it's here now, all purdy and dull. I really wanted to go back into it, but I have been putting too much effort into the next chapter in an attempt to make it not crap. Bah. I was so looking forward to that chapter too. Just goes to show that you shouldn't look forward to anything but disappointment. , Hmm, I like that... But yes, enough rambles, how about I let you read?

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything that seems to belong to someone else, most likely does.

**Painting an Oyster**

**  
Chapter 8**

**Dancing With Myself**

o-o-o

Soundtrack: "Dancing with Myself" by Billy Idol

o-o-o

You know, I should be happy. I mean, it's Friday, my last day ever working in this place. I have packed up everything I need to and I have found myself a replacement. A replacement, might I add, that is cute as a button and sharp as a tack. I am leaving this job in good hands, and I know that she will give the yet to be known artists her all, which only leaves me to go out this door. To open my office door one last time from the inside and walk through it for the final time. Then I can begin the new chapter of my life.

So why do I feel so badly about this?

I would hate to say this, but I think Percy got to me. As I was putting the last of my things away in my boxes I couldn't help but hear his words repeat in my head. Maybe I am making a huge mistake by doing this. I had security here, a future in helping those become what I have always wished to be. I was financially secure, and there was nothing to really make me all that upset. So why wasn't I happy here? Oh, that's right, because I couldn't become what I always wanted to be while sitting in here.

But you know, now that I think about it, I could have managed if I had really tried. I could have continued to work here and just made a bigger effort to paint in my free time. I mean, I had just got my new flat, so who knew what sort of new inspiration that could have brought me. Once again though I have to learn to appreciate something as I lose it. Like bloody Malfoy.

I try not to think about what happened. I keep trying to tell myself that it didn't happen, that I didn't even meet him again. But it's hard, so bloody hard, because every time I try, his damned pointed face, with its blue-grey eyes and his pale blond hair wiggle their way back into my mind's eye. And when I lie in bed all I can think about is what it would feel like to have those overlong fingers of his wrapped around my hips like they had been that day in my office.

I know it's wrong. I don't even bloody well like him, let alone want him, but I can't help but wonder what would have happened if I hadn't suddenly gotten irrational and moody. If I hadn't thrown his apology back in his face. Sure, it had been a crappy apology, probably one of the worst ones I have ever received – and that is saying something with my brother being Ron – but it was coming from Malfoy's lips. The man does not apologise, especially not to Weasleys like me, but he still tried. In his own bloody way he tried to apologise and I only threw it back in his face. No wonder he stormed out of there declaring that I need to grow up, because I do.

A grownup wouldn't have suddenly decided to quit her job because she was upset that she was ruining her life. No, she would have just stuck with it and tried to work around her job while making sure she could still pay the bills in case something went wrong. A grownup would have accepted Malfoy's apology for what it was and went from there. But I realize now that I have been far from grownup over the past little while.

But I am where I am now, and there is no point in crying over spilled milk. It's a clichéd saying, but it is true. I got myself in this position, and I am just going to have to get myself out of it. I am going to walk out of this office with my head held high, and I am going to paint my soul onto my canvas. And if I am as insane as Malfoy claimed, I will do just fine. There is no going back now, and the only direction to go is forward.

So with that in mind I grabbed my last box and headed towards the door. I pulled it open and walked through, not allowing myself to look back on what could possibly be the worst mistake of my life. Well, the second really, but you already know about the first.

o-o-o

"Mister Malfoy," someone called, no shouted, through my flat. It took me a moment to figure out that it was coming from the living room, and hopefully from my fireplace. I do not want to see my shop manager standing in my flat, not today, not ever. But I must admit, it would be a wonderful way to start the week. And I say that with the most sarcasm I can muster on a Monday morning.

Mondays, I hate bloody Mondays. Almost as much as I hate waking up to some harpy beside me. I still can't believe that I brought yet another one home. And let me tell you, they didn't get any different in the time that I have been avoiding them. But I don't think that was the worst of it. No, I think the worst part of it was the feeling of dirtiness that seemed to coat my body for the rest of the day. I don't get it. I never felt dirty before, so why would I suddenly feel dirty then?

I know what you are thinking, because Weasley seemed so taken aback by the information that I do participate in one night stands. And really, she had looked rather disturbed, as if she thought I was pure as freshly fallen snow. Ok, I know she couldn't possibly think that, but it was a similar expression. In hindsight it was probably because it is bellow her moral standards to ever participate in such a heinous act. And really, what should I have expected from her?

You know, I still don't get why I can't get her off of my bloody mind. It's not like I haven't been trying all bloody week to do just that. I fucked another woman, which didn't work as I told you, so I took to running an extra two kilometres after that. That didn't really help either, so I added on another three. I had the notion that I could run her out of my system, not run away from her. Malfoys never run away from anything. Supposedly. But I am not going to go into my shortcomings there.

So you will have to excuse me if I am a little testy about the whole issue. What ever I do she is still there, and all I want is for her to get out. I don't want to have to deal with her burrowing even further into my mind while at the same time Blaise and my mother seem to have suddenly decided – whether in unison or not I have no idea – that they are going to become more than a little interested in my life. The last thing I need at the moment is relationship advice from either of them. Especially when there is no relationship to speak of.

Just think how preposterous that sounds: a relationship with a Weasley. And Ginny Weasley of all people. I would have to be terminally brain-dead to ever want that. But then, if I were terminally brain-dead I wouldn't have to worry about wanting anything because I would no longer be thinking. Which suddenly has a lot of appeal. If my brain is dead I can't see her anymore. If my brain is dead I can't want what I can't have. What I should not want to have.

Knowing my luck though my mind would end up in hell, or whatever it is Muggles seem to go on about. I would probably end up seeing her for the rest of eternity, dressed in that skimpy lacy thing she had paraded around in, tormenting me for eternity in a sweltering tomb I will never ever hope to escape from. And why is that thought more thrilling than the thought of waking up with a harpy?

Do you see my problem? Even though I have vowed to eliminate Weasley from my life – and I have gone so far as to avoid places I think she could be – I still can't get her off my mind. How is this possible? We never did anything besides argue. A lot. Sure, there were those few times that we didn't, but still, isn't this a little insane? No, it's very insane. How can I not get her off my mind when I want nothing to do with her, and she obviously wants nothing to do with me? What has she done to me?

"Mister Malfoy?" the voice called again, louder this time. I can't say that I am all that angry at the fact that his voice is echoing about my flat, even if it has woken me up three hours earlier than I have to get up on a Monday. His voice had, after all, distracted me away from Weasley. And it had awoken me from yet another dream about her.

Oh, did I forget to mention that? I am dreaming about her now too. And she is usually wearing little more than, well, nothing. There is no escape for me. None.

I heaved a sigh and flung my covers back, rolling off of my bed and heading towards my living room. I paused to pull on a pair of trousers then continued through my bedroom doorway. When I finally managed to make my way into my living room, I found my manager's head floating awkwardly in the fireplace, flames all around it. Perhaps he will offer me something to distract myself from Weasley, since life itself certainly isn't.

"Mister Malfoy," William, exclaimed as soon as his eyes fell on me.

I frowned at the worried expression. William is one of the most reliable people I have working for me at the moment. He's the first one on location every morning, and is often one of the last to leave. I make sure he is well compensated for this, and I think that is one of the few reasons he has stuck with me. He used to work for Hudson and I, but came to me once I went independent.

"Somethin's gone fishy sir."

"What do you mean?" I asked, frowning some more. Something in my stomach began to fall. If something has happened now, when we have finally begun to catch up on everything... "What happened?"

"Well, seems like someone's forced their way into the bulidin'," William's head explained, the white hairs mixed in with the brown catching in the light of the flames. I felt my blood run cold. "But I can't see anythin' missin'."

"You're sure someone got in?" I asked, frowning further. Why would anyone want to break in and not do anything? It makes no sense.

"Ya, the door's hangin' off its hinges, and the shop's in a bit oh mess, likes they was lookin' for somethin." He paused and I could tell he was shrugging. "Yer office is still locked, so I can't see what they was after. I made sure the boys ain't touchin' anythin', incase you wanna to owl the authorities."

I nodded at this. "Good thinking." I paused. This is fishy. Why break in if you are not going to take anything? And if you were looking for something, why wouldn't you get into the main office? It doesn't make any sense. But then, it seems like a lot in my life doesn't make much sense right now.

"Alright," I said finally, running a hand through my hair. "You call the Ministry and have them send someone down to check it out. The last thing we need is for something to have actually happened and we didn't report it. I'll be down as soon as I can."

William nodded and his head disappeared from sight, the flames going out with him. I stared at the empty hearth for a moment. Something about this just seems wrong. If you're going to break in, the least you can do is take something. Not that I want people to be taking things from my shop, but it just seems pointless to get in there and not do anything. We have a fortune of equipment in there, not to mention the safe in the office.

But maybe they, who ever they were, are not interested in anything like that. Maybe they were after something else. Information perhaps? But then why not get into the office?

I shook my head and took a deep breath, letting it out with a whoosh of air. Great, this is just what I want to have to deal with first thing on Monday morning. Have I ever told you that I hate Monday mornings? Well, I do. With a passion.

It didn't take me very long to get ready, and I soon found myself Apparated into the alley beside the building. I glanced around before heading around to the front entrance. Sure enough, our eight foot double doors were hanging off their hinges, looking rather useless. I could tell by the marks on them that they were forced open by magic. Even fishier, so it wasn't just a gang of Muggle teens or something. I hear they do things like that these days.

With yet another shake of my head, and I am sure I am going to be making a few of those today, I headed into my establishment, looking around for anomalies. The first one I saw was standing a few inches over six feet, hands clasped behind his back, looking around underneath a mop of unpleasantly messy hair. Great, let's just make an already bad day worse. Where's Weasley? Then we'll really be having a party.

I looked around the shop, searching for my own people, but none could be seen. I also noticed that there was a definite lack of his people as well. I frowned, walking up behind him.

"Malfoy, you finally decided to show up, did you?" he asked without turning around. My steps almost faltered, but I kept moving forward anyway. I don't want to know how he knew it was me, and I also don't want him to know he has unnerved me.

"Potter," I drawled in response, coming up to stand beside him. "Don't tell me, you have fallen from the Ministry's graces and they have put you investigating break-ins rather than killing Dark Lords."

"That would make you pretty happy if it were true, wouldn't it?" he asked me, watching me through darkly shadowed eyes. Actually, if I didn't know better I would say that it looks as if The Boy Who Lived is an insomniac now. But how could that be? He's supposedly the perfect image of health, or so says _The Daily Prophet_.

"Well, isn't it?" I asked, looking around. Things did look like they had been shuffled around. Papers on the floor, tools tossed about, but nothing else. All of the models were still locked up safely in their cabinet, and the ones that had been left out were still as they were before. "I can't see why someone of your rank would be here to investigate a break in, especially one that seems as pathetic as this."

"You know, if I didn't know better, I would say that you just complimented me, Draco," he said, a ghost of a grin on his face. I snorted in response. "You must be slipping in your old age."

"No more so than you," I replied, crossing my arms.

Ok, so I suppose you are wondering what is going on here. Never mentioned any of this to you, did I? All I ever said was that I hated Potter. Well I do. Sort of. Things change you know. I still can't stand his troupe of devoted followers, or the fangirls – and boys, disturbingly enough – that follow him around. But I have come to respect him. Sort of happens when someone saves your life – regardless of whether or not you have already repaid the debt. But I am not going to get into that right now.

"So why are you really here?" I turned and looked at him, noticing that his hair has gotten longer, making him seem a touch taller. That was one thing that always irritated me about this man, he's the same height as me. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to intimidate someone who is at exactly eyelevel to you? Not that it matters anymore, but it still does irritate me. "You can't tell me that this is anything you would be interested in."

"You'd be surprised," he replied, scrubbing his hands with his face. "We got a tip, and I am just following it through. I can't say much else. Though I would like to know who you have recently pissed off. I know it will be hard, but try to the list within a hundred people or so."

I couldn't help but snort again at that. The only people I have recently pissed off are not capable of doing this, and if they were to have broken in there would have been a lot more damage. But if Potter, of all people, the Auror's prize pet, is here investigating this, then obviously there is more to this than there seems. More than I initially thought.

"Besides Weasley, no one I can think of," I replied with a shrug.

The lunchroom door cracked open for a moment, and a woman with disturbingly orange hair poked her head out. She waved at Potter then closed the door again, but not before I caught a glimpse of some of my shop workers. "You're interrogating my employees."

"Procedure," he replied offhandedly, a slight grin on his face as he stared at the now closed door. It dropped away when he turned and looked at me once more. "What did you do to Ron to piss him off now?"

"You mean besides existing?" I asked dryly. When he frowned I rolled my eyes and continued. "Not that one, the female anomaly of that misbegotten horde."

"What did you do to Ginny?" he asked, his voice going eerily quite. I frowned at him. I might respect the bastard but I am certainly not intimidated by him. So he took down Voldemort, along with the few copycats who have popped up over the years, doesn't mean I don't still realize that he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Though as to whether or not I would prefer Longbottom in his place is not something that I want to consider.

"Nothing," I replied, shrugging. I can tell that he is getting pissed off. He always gets red in the face. Always. Good to see that some things don't change. "I'm just not her favourite person at the moment." And she's not mine either.

"You do remember what I said in that Howler I sent you, don't you?" he asked, his hand going for his wand. I rolled my eyes again.

"You mean the one that threatened me with castration?" I drawled, resisting the urge to reach for my own. The last thing I need to do is egg Potter into taking his wand out. With a Weasley in charge of the government whose going to care if there is one less Malfoy in the world? Not that Potter would have the guts, but I am not as stupid as I was when I was younger. I have met reality. "You know, a lot of people have been threatening me with that lately. It's getting rather cumbersome actually. Can't any of you Weasley supporters think of anything different? Like beheading, or disembowelment? You know, shake things up a bit." He didn't look impressed. "I don't understand why the mutt is the only one who hasn't done anything to me."

"Sneazel likes you?" Potter asked, disbelief on his face. His hand stopped going for his wand. Curious.

"Apparently," I replied with a shrug.

Now why the hell would that fact set Potter at ease all of a sudden? I made Weasley upset, just as he warned me not to, so I should be a few pieces too short right now, but I'm not. Not that I am complaining, but it's just odd. Why would that mutt not trying to kill me put Potter at ease? I'm Malfoy, I'm evil as far as the lot of his kind are concerned, and Weasley is mad at me, so he should be trying to defend her right now. Not that I care if he does or not, because she is dead to me now, but it's just odd. Why is nothing making sense anymore?

I was spared having to go into it any further though about it, as the orange haired woman opened the door open once more, but decided to come out this time. She was curvy in a pleasant way, but had nothing on Weasley. Not that I bloody well care. I need to get that woman out of my head, every little thing I see reminds me of her.

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head. I watched as Potter nodded, then he turned his attention back to me.

"Figured as much," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "There's nothing else we can do for you Malfoy. We have taken samples of the magic blasts on the doors, but other than that there doesn't seem to be anything amiss." He dropped his hand and looked at me. "If you notice anything else, contact us as soon as possible."

With that he turned and followed the orange haired lady out. I was just starting to head towards my employees, who were all beginning to filter out of the lunchroom, when he called my name. I stopped and turned around to see him glaring at me again.

"If I find out you did something to her, you're a dead man," he said.

"Whatever you say, Potter," I drawled, turning my back on him, though I didn't feel as confident as I sounded. But really, it's not like I did do anything to her. Actually, she did more to me, thus why I am forgetting about her. So what can he possibly do to me? I apologised to the bitch, that was all. Not like I tried to rape her or anything. Like I ever would anyway. What do these people think I am? A barbarian? Please.

The next few days went by without incident. Nothing else came of the pathetic break in attempt. My insurance covered the doors, and I had a charm warden come in and upgrade the security wards which I thought had been adequate. Obviously they hadn't been, but I've fixed that now. It got in the papers as well, but it wasn't as spectacular an issue as the one with Weasley and me.

That's another problem. There was a suspicious break in at my shop and I should be trying to figure out the reason for it, but all I can think about is her. The bloody woman I was convinced no longer mattered. Why is my mind not agreeing with this? I haven't even seen her for over a week, with the exception of a small article about her becoming a fulltime painter. Regardless though, every time I see a flash of red I catch myself looking to see if it's her. Every time I hear a dog bark I look for that blasted mutt of hers. Every time I walk past her apartment I look up in hopes of seeing her standing on the balcony. And it's really starting to piss me off.

She's the one who can't accept that I am different, that there is more to me now than there was when I was a kid. That, along with the fact that she is a Weasley, as I keep stressing, should be more than enough reason to not think about her. But it seems, as with all the other reasons I have compiled, that my mind doesn't care. She's wormed her way in, and no matter how mad I am at her, she isn't getting out. Even when I try to envision ways to off her, in hopes of killing her off in my head, it always backfires. Always.

She's driven me insane. I can't stand her and yet I can't stop thinking about her, even when she gives me more than enough reason to have nothing to do with her ever again. What can that possibly mean? That subconsciously I actually like her? If that's the case I think I need to l need to kill myself right now before I do something stupid like forgive her.

What is wrong with me? Seriously. I am a Malfoy. I can hate like no one else alive, and yet I can't seem to hate a red headed, neurotic woman, who just so happens to be a Weasley? My family's sworn enemy? I mean, I can't even stay mad at her for crying out loud! Even when I have ample reason to do so. It's wrong. It's unnatural. And it driving me even more insane than I thought I already was.

This cannot be happening. I cannot be, well, liking her. I can't. It's wrong. Immoral. Wrong. And did I mention wrong? Maybe Potter is right, maybe I am slipping. Merlin, did I just suggest that Potter, of all people, could be right? I think I'm going to go jump out of my bedroom window right now. But maybe after I take a nap. Gah. I can't even contemplate self-righteous suicide properly. I'm doomed aren't I? I'm going to end up- no, I mustn't go there. I mustn't tempt fate, or whoever is pulling the strings.

With this in mind I rolled over on my couch and attempted to fall asleep. I was actually making a good try at it and could feel myself drifting off rather quickly. I can never fall asleep right away. Never. No matter how tired I am, or in need of sleep, I always end up thinking about something, which then leads to something else, and then I don't fall asleep for a good half hour. I know it's an omen of an early death, but I can't help it.

So I hope you can understand my irritation when some one Apparated into my flat with a crack. I wasn't concerned as to who it could be. Only two people can Apparate directly into my flat, everyone else gets forced to the front door. Some rather ingenious ward work, though it cost a fortune to get. Since I know that my mother is currently out for the evening, it has to be Blaise that is now looming over me.

"What are you doing asleep?" he demanded, nudging my back with his knee. "You're not supposed to be asleep."

"And why is that, Zabini?" I asked, not bothering to move my face away from the pillow it was smashed into, so my voice sounded muffled, even to me.

"Because you are supposed to be coming shopping with me in Diagon Alley tonight, remember?"

I frowned into my pillow. No, I do not remember. And I think I would have as the two of us rarely do the shopping thing, well, with the exception of Christmas time, but it's not my fault he his useless when it comes to shopping for women. I frowned some more, suddenly getting a bad feeling.

"And why is that?" I asked, still not moving my head. If I can convince him not to drag me along, then I am not moving just in case. I just might be able to drift off to sleep after this if he actually does leave.

"Because I need a present for my girlfriend," he replied, and I could hear the odd mix of irritation and concession in his voice. I almost smirked.

"The one I still don't know the identity of," I replied with a drawl, finally rolling over and sitting up. I glared up at him and his curly hair. He had the nerve to cross his arms.

"I'll tell you," he began, and I rolled my eyes.

"As soon as you feel I am ready," I drawled, shaking my head. "Honestly, what do you think I am going to do? Kill her if I don't like her?"

"No," he replied, frowning at me. "It's just..." He trailed off.

"You're not embarrassed by her, are you?" I asked suspiciously, narrowing my eyes. Well, it would explain a lot if he was. I mean, why else won't he tell me? It's getting kind of silly, especially if I am supposed to help him shop for her. How is that supposed to happen if I don't even know what she is like?

"What? No, of course not," he said hastily, frowning some more. I frowned back at him.

"Well then, what is it?" I asked, because honestly I can't figure it out. "Is she embarrassed of you? Is she married and you are having an affair? Is she the one who doesn't want you to tell? Has she blackmailed you into going out with her? Do you need me to help you but are unable to ask? Because if that's the case, then I should probably do something. Where does she live?"

"You are such a fucking asshole Malfoy," he snapped, running a hand through his hair. He was beginning to look very agitated, and I can't help but think that I am getting to him. Good. For over three weeks I have been nettling him, it's about time I get somewhere. I don't even know why this is bothering me so much, but for some reason I really want to figure this out.

"That may be so, but at least I am an honest asshole," I informed him, looking up at him. He glared back at me. "I would never be doing this to you." Well, unless it was Weasley, but then, I wouldn't want anyone to know about that. Not even myself. And why am I even considering the idea. I do not want to be with Weasley. I do not want to have anything to do with her.

"Luna Lovegood," he snapped, and he jerked me away from my sudden train of thoughts. I looked up at him again, feeling my eyes go wide despite myself. "I have fallen in love with Luna Lovegood."

My eyes went even wider. Love? Blaise is in love? Blaise, the most unfaithful man in Britain is _in love_! This is even more bizarre than the idea of him having a girlfriend. I didn't even think he was capable of actually loving someone, because that would mean getting attached, and that is something he never does. Or at least he never did. But Loony Lovegood? How did she manage to capture Blaise's heart when no one else could? I just don't get it.

"Don't look at me like that," he snapped, running his hand through his hair again. He had begun to pace across my sitting room. "It's not like I planned for this to happen, it just, well, did. Not that I am unhappy about it," he added hastily, "because I'm not. It's just weird you know.

"I could never figure out what it was that could possibly have made you propose to anyone," he continued, glancing at me. I frowned at him. That was one thing that annoyed me endlessly after my proposal to The Cheating Bitch, Blaise's inability to accept it. He seems to think that all men need to be bachelors for the rest of their lives. Or at least, he used to. "I could never understand why you would want to marry Jocelyn, when there were so many other women out there to be had. But with Luna I suddenly understand." He stopped and glared at me. "And that damned expression on your face is exactly why I didn't want to tell you."

"I am not looking at you like this because it's Lovegood that has finally brought you down," I said, frowning again. "Ok, maybe she has a part in it." But seriously, Loony Lovegood! I was only joking when I had suggested her. "But I never thought you would actually fall in love with her, even when I didn't know who she was. Do you have any idea how weird this is to be hearing all that coming from your mouth?"

"I told you I didn't plan for this to happen," he repeated irritably. "It just did. I just looked up and there she was across the dance floor, and she was looking straight at me. And when we finally got to each other, I couldn't stand to think of her dancing with anyone else, ever again." He stopped pacing, and looked at me. "And I couldn't think of anyone I would rather dance with for the rest of my life."

"Please stop," I told him, grinning ever so slightly. "The Love confession was enough of a shock, I do not need to hear you speaking like a love struck fool as well. At least not all in one day. Give me a break."

"I don't know why I put up with you," he replied, shaking his head.

"Because no one else will put up with your crap?" I asked.

Blaise is one of those guys who can make friends with anyone, but very few of them actually try to stick around. I don't know if it is his personality or what, but he doesn't have many close friends, just a very large assortment of acquaintances. I have a feeling that he likes keeping it that way, and doesn't allow anyone to get close to him, well with the exception if me, and now Lovegood.

Actually, thinking about it that way, there's no wonder that he never committed to a woman before Lovegood. She must be really something then, though I can't figure out how she could be. She's probably crazier than Weasley, and that's saying something.

"Whatever," he said, dropping down onto one of my chairs.

We fell into silence after that, and all I could do was mull over this new information. Luna Lovegood. Luna Lovegood and Blaise Zabini. Blaise and Luna. It just sounds so weird, so wrong. Well, I suppose she isn't ugly, at least. Well, as long as you can handle those oversized eyes of hers. She always reminded me of a goldfish back in school. A very big eyed goldfish. Though if Blaise can handle the goldfishness, then good for him.

But wasn't Lovegood in Weasley's flat that day? She was, wasn't she? So Blaise has been dating Weasley's friend for the past few weeks. I wonder if Weasley knows. Why do I care if she knows? And why is she once again weaselling her way into my mind again? She doesn't have anything to do with this and yet here she is. Bloody hell.

"So have you talked to Ginny yet?" Blaise asked, breaking our silence. Great, he has to bring her up yet again. You know, besides himself, I am beginning to think that she is his new favourite topic. He has been asking me about her all week, the bastard. Can't he just keep himself focused on his new girl and leave me to find a new one of my own? One that isn't Weasley, as he seems to want to happen.

"Since when are you on a first name basis with her?" I sneered, not wanting to get into this. The last thing I need is for him to start trying to convince me to talk to her. How am I supposed to forget her if I am talking to her? And I want to be forgetting her.

"Since Luna insisted on me calling her that," he replied with a shrug.

"You've been seeing her for barely a month and already she has you whipped," I muttered.

"You haven't answered my question," he said, ignoring what I had said. I scowled at him.

"No, I haven't," I told him. "And I don't want to talk to her. I don't want to have anything to do with her anymore, as you well know. And I don't see why this is such a big issue to you. She's just a Weasley after all."

"A Weasley that you can't stop thinking about," he replied with a drawl, and I glared. I can so stop thinking about her. If I can just figure out how to turn my brain off.

"I can stop thinking about her," I snapped, not wanting to admit the truth. Ok, so I lied. I am not honest. All the time. I try to be honest, but it doesn't always work. And if I tell him that the dammed woman is haunting me, I will never hear the end of it until I do what he wants. I had always wondered why the hat had put Blaise into Slytherin, since he never seemed to be the ruthless cunning sort. At least, he doesn't on the outside. But as I discovered, if he wants something he will plot and plan, and stop at nothing to get it. And I hate it when there is something he wants from me. "So you can stop asking. Weasley is nothing to me anymore."

"You liar," he said, frowning at me. "I don't know why you bother trying anymore. I can tell when you do it." I glared at him but didn't say anything. What he says is true. I haven't been able to get away with a lie to him in over a decade. "And I know you can't stop thinking about her. And sitting around in your flat on a Thursday night pouting isn't going to help you."

"I'm not pouting," I snapped, glaring at him. Well, I'm not. "And I have stopped thinking about her." Her and her red hair, and overabundance of freckles, and her ever long legs, and that rear-end that- dammit.

"Right," he said slowly. "And I totally believe that. Will it kill you to just talk to her?"

"Yes," I replied stubbornly. Maybe it will. Then I won't have to deal with her anymore. Maybe this talking to her bit won't be so bad after all.

"No," he corrected me, and I scowled once more. "It won't. You are such an idiot, Malfoy."

"Well, I may be an idiot," I told him, crossing my arms. "But I am an idiot who is not thinking about Weasleys, as you so claim." He frowned at me, and I can tell that he knows I am lying. But what does he expect? For me to spill and tell all? There is nothing to tell. I am done with her. My mind just hasn't caught up yet, is all. "Now, why is it we have to go shopping again?"

o-o-o

I let out a frustrated sigh and leant back on my stool. I glared at the painting in front of me, then down on my paintbrush. Regardless of the fact that I am using my favourite colour of paint, phthalocyanine blue, I still can't get this damned painting to look right. Nor can I even get into it. Every brushstroke feels forced.

I know at this point I should take a break and walk away. There is no point in trying to force myself to do something that I obviously don't want to do. All I will get is a painting that I don't like, and I have more than enough of those as it is.

I don't want to walk away though, because that is what I have been doing all week. I sit down all ready to paint, but as soon as I reach up to make my first stroke, my ambition leaves me, and all I can do is try to paint something I no longer want to paint. It feels like I am back in school, with all those stupid beginner's classes, having to paint the most mundane things.

I have had phases like these before, some last days, others months. I am really hoping that it does not last for months, because I feel guilty enough as it is. I don't want to let myself do anything, since I am not painting as I should be, so instead of doing something productive, I am wasting time by looking out the window or listening to the radio. I always do this, and it's driving me bonkers. Why did I quit my job if I am not going to paint?

Maybe that's what it is though. I finally have the opportunity and the time to paint, to make a living from it, and now the pressure is on. Before, if I made a bad painting it didn't really matter, because my livelihood did not depend on its quality. But now, now I have to depend on every painting I make; every painting has to be of such quality and ingenuity that I have scared the crap out of myself.

I really have made a mistake, haven't I? I can't make it as a painter. I can't even paint! All of my good paintings are flukes. How can I expect to do this, if all I can paint are flukes? I will have to paint hundreds of paintings in a month only to get several paintings worthy of being sold. What am I thinking? I will go broke just trying to afford the supplies for the hundreds of paintings, and will not make it back on the few that actually turn out.

Why did Percy have to be right? Why couldn't my plan actually have turned out? Why do all my ideas have to go out the window when I actually have the time to put them on canvas? It just doesn't seem fair. Not that life is fair. At all. But still, give me a break. It's not like I haven't been going through enough lately that they have to throw this at me as well.

Is it not bad enough that I am forced to move when my roommate leaves the country? Or that Malfoy is suddenly back to torment me to death? Or a beam nearly squishes me? Or that Zach has found himself someone and wants me to get with Malfoy? Or that my own brother thinks that I am a failure? Or that I got into a screaming fight with Malfoy and now all I can think about is how stupid I am?

Well, I am quite stupid, aren't I? I throw his apology back in his face and then get mad when he tells me off. And the worst part is, is that I still dislike him, still don't' want him around, but there is this cavity in me that wasn't there when he was around. It's almost as if he took something with him when he left – which is ridiculous, since I never let him have anything of me to take with him.

Gah. What's wrong with me? I am just making a mess of everything. A smart woman in my shoes would go and get her job back, go to Malfoy and apologise, and become a responsible adult. But that's the problem, isn't it? I am not all that much of an adult, despite my age. I don't want to go back to that job, I don't want to apologise to Malfoy, and I certainly don't want to have to grow up. My soul needs a bit of immaturity to paint, doesn't it?

But what if it is this immaturity that is hindering my painting? Or maybe it is just the fact that I can't get bloody Malfoy out of my mind. Or maybe it is just the pressure. I don't know, and I don't think it really matters right now. All that matters now is that I hate this painting. And with that is mind I grabbed my huge brush, loaded it with paint, and attacked.

I was so intent on my attack that I didn't hear the crack of someone Apparating behind me. Only when the someone tapped me on my shoulder did I realize that they were there. I yelped in surprise.

"Good morning," Luna said with a misty smile.

"Don't do that to me," I hissed at her, clutching at my chest, my paintbrush clenched between my fingers. "You know I hate it when people sneak up on me."

There had been a time when that was all Zach would do, sneak up on me and scare the crap out of me. It wasn't very funny, I can tell you that, especially when he began to get more and more creative. I think the worst one was where he had hid in my wardrobe and popped out when I was lying in bed. To this day I have to look in there before I can go to sleep.

I paused in thought for a moment. "And it's not morning, it's evening," I told her, my heart rate slowing down to a relative norm.

"So?" she asked, her smile not faltering. "I didn't feel like saying evening."

I stared at her, but she didn't stare back. Sometimes I think the title Loony Lovegood was too close to the mark. Oh well. She was staring at my painting now, the one I had just violently attacked and irradiated all signs of life. Mountains were staring back at me, thickly painted mountains.

"What's it supposed to be?" she asked me, her eyes travelling across it. I turned my own eyes to the painting, taking in the excessive use of phthalocyanine blue and phthalocyanine green. There were even hints of bright orange and pink in there as well, remnants of a girl in a dress. I don't actually mind this one so much anymore.

"Can't you tell?" I asked, glancing at her. She simply shrugged in response. I sighed. "Yah, I don't know what it is either. Mountains I am assuming."

"But mountains don't have high-rises sticking out of them," she said, gesturing towards a building sticking out of the side of one of the mountains, parallel to the ground. Apparently gravity is not a concept in this painting's world. "Nor do their trees stand with their roots in the air."

"Oh well," I replied, shaking my head. I put my paintbrush into water and moved my stool back a little. I got up and stretched, hearing my back crack a bit. "So, any particular reason that you are here, or did you just decide to randomly scare the crap out of me?"

"Well, I heard you were cranky," she said, wandering away from me and over to my large pile of paintings. I always find it odd that she goes to look at them as often as she does. It's not like the old ones ever change.

"I am not cranky," I said, frowning at her. "Where did you hear that?"

"I have my sources," she replied, not looking at me, but instead down on the paintings she was now flipping through. She paused at a smaller one – well, small in comparison to the ones I do now – and pulled it out. She looked at it with her protruded eyes. "This one is still my favourite."

I glanced at it to find a garish looking tree setting with little glowy fairies. Something I did last year one night when I was bored. The fairies were fun to do at the time, but the next day I realized how silly they looked. I am not a fairy painting person. I never should try; all I ever get is crap like that. It is beyond me why Luna would like it. Crazy blonde.

"You might as well take it then," I told her, crossing the room to my work table. It was completely clear of clutter. I always clean when I get upset over something, and with Malfoy constantly on my brain, I certainly have something to be upset about. I am still trying to get used to the lack of clutter. It will be back soon enough though. It always comes back, and I don't realize it's happening until it is too late. "I don't think they would want it in a show." I paused. "If I ever get one."

"Why not?" she asked, holding it up a bit higher and looking at it fondly. "It's one of your better pieces as far as I'm concerned."

"I already told you that you can have it, you don't need to flatter me about it anymore," I told her, moving past my freakishly clean table and over to my new book shelf. I bought myself one and put all of my books, notes, CDs, sketchbooks and the like on it. I actually think it looks rather attractive, and there are still empty shelves for more stuff, which is always good.

"I'll tell you what," she said after a moment, putting the painting down in front of one of the stacks. "You put it in your first show, and I will buy it for whatever the curator thinks it's worth."

I snapped my head towards her, my hand frozen in the air from where it was going to grab an old scratch pad. She was staring back at me seriously, well, as seriously as Luna can ever look with her eyes like that.

"You don't need to do that," I told her, looking at her like she was insane. Which I am beginning to think is a real possibility. "You can take it for free right now."

"But then no one else will see it," she said, flipping through the next pile of art. "And people should be able to see pretty things."

I stared at her, at a total loss for words. Luna has never offered to pay for any of my paintings. Ever. Even the ones that she has asked me to paint. She always ends up baking me something yummy, but she never offers money. Why now all of a sudden? Is it because she knows I need the money now? If that's the case then she can keep the money. I do not need charity. I can do this. I got myself into this mess, and I am bloody well going to pull myself out of it. And I do not need anyone's help to do it. I can hear the stubborn childishness of that phrase just ringing in my ears.

"Now stop gawking at me and go get ready," she said, not looking at me as she continued to flip through painting after horrible painting.

"Get ready for what?" I asked in confusion, not moving from where I was standing.

"We're going out," she said, pausing at a horribly painted image of a flowered meadow. I don't know why I bothered keeping that one. Flowers and I do not get along. But it's amazing how many people commission me to paint flowers.

"Out where?" I asked with a frown, watching as a selection of darkly painted halls came up. A series on three identical canvases. It was more work than it was worth.

"Out to get chocolate," she said, flipping past them to a self portrait which I should really gesso over. I never look like myself in those bloody paintings.

"Why?" I asked, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as the painting of Malfoy showed up next. I had repaired the frame, not because it was Malfoy on the canvas, but because I am rather happy with how the lighting turned out in it. Hair is tricky to get it shinning in the right ways, especially when you don't have a reference picture. Well, with the exception of the ones in my head. My head usually skews things a bit.

"Because I have decided that you need chocolate to make things better," she said with a nod, pushing all of the paints back into place and moving to the next pile.

I opened my mouth to object, but no objection came out. Who am I to argue with an offer to get chocolate? Regardless of the reason. Instead, I turned around and headed into my room. I changed clothes and fixed my hair, then headed back out, grabbing my purse, wand and keys from the little table beside the door.

"Let's go to where the chocolate lives."

It didn't take us long to be entering Diagon Alley, and soon we were strolling down the street, dodging the hordes of people that were present. Thursday nights are usually busy like this, though I have never been able to figure out why. Probably because the weekend is coming up and they want to celebrate. Either way, there are a lot of people, and it is rather fun to move around them all.

I have always loved Diagon Alley, not only for its atmosphere, but for its appearance as well. There is such history in this place, with most of the buildings being over a few thousand years old, and yet they don't look it. Well, most of them at least. Everything on this street is so well maintained, all the little details kept in pristine order, yet still allowed to age properly. I have painted more than a few paintings in this place. Maybe I should come here next week some time, when it's a little less busy.

"So Charlie came and picked Sneazel up yesterday," I told Luna as we moved to the left of a large crowd of young adults.

He had seemed very mad at me that I was packing his stuff up. He actually had the nerve to growl at me when I put his leash on. Not that I blame him, of course. If I was in his paws I would be mighty pissed off if all of a sudden my owner decided I was going on a trip without being told in advance. But once Charlie showed up at the door, and took his box of stuff and his leash, he seemed much happier. I hope he isn't too mad at me when he gets back. The flat sounds so odd without him in it.

I didn't tell Zach, who flooed me last night, that Sneazel isn't here anymore. Actually, I haven't told him a lot of things, mainly because I am still rather pissed off at him. I can't blame him for the fight itself, though I can blame him for the situation that brought the fight on. And he seemed entirely too smug about what he did, that it didn't even bother me that I "forgot" to water his plants for five days in a row. Oops.

He sounds like he's having a good time though, which I suppose is good. Maybe when he comes back in two weeks he will have forgotten all about Malfoy and I and leave me alone. Either that or he will just have had a month to plot what he wants to do next, the bastard.

"Why did he do that?" she asked me, turning her over wide eyes on me. Then shifted past me to the window of a shoe shop. "Oh, we should go in there."

I shrugged. "I follow you," I replied and did as she made her way over to the entrance. Luna loves shoes. We can never walk past a shoe store without having to stop and look inside. Unless I physically drag her away, that is. "That little brat of his wants a dog, and they want to use Sneazel to see if he can handle one." I paused as Luna began to adore the flats. "I hope he bites that kid's butt."

"Well, that's not nice," Luna said, not removing her eyes from the hundreds of shoes before her. "But these are." She took a pair of shoes from the shelf and cradled them in her hands. "Aren't they precious?"

I nodded in agreement then glanced over to the heeled shoes. I don't care how tall I am, I love wearing heels. I think it was one of the things that really pissed off Samuel. He was about my height when I was in bare feet, so when I put my shoes on he always looked shorter. He tried hiding them all one time, but I just got angry. And when ever I dragged him into a shoe shop he would put up a stink if I even tried to look at heels. At least Malfoy is taller than me with my shoes on. I do not want to know why I just thought that. What do I care if Malfoy is tall enough? Tall enough for _what_?

Twenty minutes later we walked out of the shop, each of us with a new pair of shoes. The bloody shoes were just too cute, and they actually fit, which is amazing. So how could I leave them to live in that little box all by themselves, unloved and unworn. Bloody hell, I am starting to sound like Luna.

"So I hear that Hermione is coming back to town," Luna said as we continued our trek to where the chocolate lives. I nodded, glancing in a fancy robe shop.

"Yah, and Ron's already in a stink about it," I said with a sigh. "You would think that two people, who are obviously into each other, would be able to sort things out and live happily ever after."

"Hmm," Luna said with a nod, her eyes wandering about. "Sounds like someone I know."

I turned and frowned at her. "Who?" I asked, my eyes falling on the art supply store. I resisted the urge to go in. I do not need to be walking out of there poorer than I already am because new paintbrushes are calling to me. The problem is that paintbrushes always look so pretty when they are sitting on those racks. It's hard not to want them.

"Oh look!" Luna suddenly exclaimed. I looked at Luna, but her attention had been distracted elsewhere. I followed her eyes and felt my own grow wide. Bloody hell. "There's-"

Before I could properly think about what I was doing, I grabbed Luna's arm – which was beginning to lift up into the air to wave, though I can't imagine why – and dragged her back in an alleyway and plastered the both of us against the wall of the art supply store. I paused, feeling my heart pounding, and realized exactly what I had done. What kind of idiot dashes away to hide like this? I turned to see Luna scowling at me.

"What did you do that for?" she demanded.

"Malfoy!" I exclaimed, pressing my back harder against the wall. I glanced around to see him strolling down the street beside another man I have never seen before. And I think I would have noticed him before, as he is quite large in the shoulders, and has unmistakable dark curly hair. So Malfoy does have friends. Well, one at least.

"Oh, that was mature," Luna said from where she was standing against the wall beside me, watching the two men as well. "What are you going to do if he spots you now? Cover your eyes and hope he doesn't come over here?"

"If it works," I said distractedly. Walking beside the other man, Malfoy looks even taller and more arrogant than ever. Not that the other man isn't tall, but Malfoy's shoulder's aren't as wide, so it makes him look more willowy and elegant. More attractive. Merlin, I am not thinking this.

I forced Luna to remain in our place until they passed by us, talking animatedly to each other. I was almost curious as to what they could possibly be talking about, but why do I care? I don't. I should not care about what the people I hate talk about. I shouldn't. Especially if I can't get them off my mind as it is.

With a sigh I pulled away from the wall and glanced at Luna, only to find her frowning at me now. I looked at her questioningly, but she just kept frowning.

"I take it you haven't tried to talk to Malfoy then," she said crossly.

"Why would I?" I asked in confusion. And really, why would I? I haven't even seen him since the fight, well, with the exception of a few seconds ago. And besides, I don't want to have anything to do with him, do I? No. I don't. And why would Luna be all mad about it? It doesn't have anything to do with her.

"Because you have been grumpy ever since last Saturday, and frankly I am getting rather sick of it," she said, still frowning.

I looked at her. Luna doesn't usually get this straight forward unless she is really mad about something. But why would she be mad at me not talking to Malfoy? I am not getting this, first Zach and now Luna? Has the world suddenly turned against me? It is certainly starting to seem like it.

"And you are implying that it was my fight with Malfoy that has made me grumpy these past two weeks?" I asked slowly. Has it really been almost two weeks since Zach left? You know it's funny, I haven't even really missed him that much. The only person I have been missing is Malfoy. How twisted is that, I miss the person I hate more than I miss my bestest friend. There is something seriously wrong with me.

"That is exactly what I am implying," she snapped, still looking annoyed. Then she sighed and leant back against the wall. "Doesn't this show you something?" she asked, looking at me as though it was completely obvious. "If this is how you act after not seeing him for a little while, when you don't really know him, then what would happen if you got to know him better?"

I felt my eyes bug out despite myself. No amount of time ever could have prepared me for her saying _that_.

"Luna!" I exclaimed. "Are you suggesting that-" I faltered. No, she couldn't be suggesting that. Not her as well. Has she been conspiring with Zach now too? "I don't want to get to know him better."

"Why not?" she asked simply, watching me through her huge eyes.

"Because he's an asshole, that's why," I snapped. Know him better? Preposterous. "He's self-centred, egotistical, chauvinistic, insulting and condescending. Why would I want to know him any better? All I will discover are more bad traits like those."

"I think you are making those up," she replied. I felt my eye go wider. Maybe Malfoy's brainwashed her. But why would he want to do that if he was the one to storm out, shouting at me to grow up? "If he was really all those things he wouldn't have done half the stuff that he has done."

"Like what, look at my ass?" I asked irritably. I cannot believe she is even suggesting this!

"No, like throw a stick for your puppy, or staying and making sure you are ok," she replied as though it was the most obvious answer in the world. "Not to mention walk you home several times, that alone makes him more chivalrous than chauvinistic."

I glared at her, opening my mouth to tell her off, but the words died in my throat. Look at me, yelling the same things all over again. He is different, I have already realized that, so why can't I remember it? Gah. Why can't I just get over him and get on with my life? My life without him. And why is that thought so depressing?

"So what?" I asked, though it didn't have the same conviction as before.

"So, why haven't you tried to talk to him?" she asked patiently. I have always been amazed by her patients. I can never be accused of being patient.

"Because I haven't seen him," I replied. Well, it's true, with the exception of a few moments ago. "And he doesn't want me to talk to him."

"You just saw him," she informed me, glancing past me to the crowds in Diagon Alley. "And five sickles says that he was talking about you just now."

"How do you know that?" I asked suspiciously, ignoring the feeling of excitement at the thought. But really, why would he be talking about me to his friend? It doesn't make sense. He doesn't want to have anything to do with me. I am too immature and ungrownup. See? Listen to me whine. "Is there something you are not telling me?"

"There is always something I am not telling you," she replied, pushing off the wall and heading back towards the crowds.

I blinked at what she had said and watched her walk away.

We eventually made it to Death by Chocolate, the best chocolate dessert place on Earth. There was no more mention of Malfoy, or the incident in the alley, but I couldn't help but relive it in my mind. What had she meant by "there is always something I am not telling you,"? It bothered me all night, and it is still bothering me now that I am sitting here, trying to paint at two in the morning. Why would she say that?

I sighed; I suppose I will figure it out eventually. I glanced out the window at the black sky. Low hanging clouds have blocked out the moon and all the stars, so all that there is for outdoor light is the glow of lights from the refinery in the harbour. I hope it rains soon, with big thunder and lighting. It always seems a waste to me to have big clouds like that and no storm. I love thunderstorms.

Shaking my head I stood up and took out my wand. I charmed the paint off of myself and brushes, then grabbed my housecoat off the couch. I had put that stupid lacy slip on again when I got home for some reason. It had been sitting on the chair in my room for over two weeks, and for some reason I didn't feel like going into my wardrobe to get an actual set of pyjamas. So I just put it on. It's silly, but for some reason it makes me feel good about myself. I mean, if it can make Malfoy want to stare at me, then I couldn't look half bad in it, could I? Merlin, why did I just think that? I do not need Malfoy to verify my self-worth.

With yet another sigh I dropped my wand into the pocket of my robe and looked at my new painting. I had had the urge to paint it just before I had gotten into my bed, and it only took me an hour to paint. I think I might have to touch it up yet, but it's in oils so I am going to have to wait a week or so before it is dry. Funny how this afternoon I was fighting to paint, and then a few hours later I can just sit down and throw my heart at the canvas.

I was just turning to go back to my bedroom when suddenly there was a click and I was plunged into darkness. I looked around blindly, before realizing that the Muggle lights had all gone out. I glanced towards the window to see no lights outside either. It seems like there is a blackout, or whatever Muggles call these things. Though I thought they were a thing of the past with all their new technology. Oh well. I took my wand out again and muttered a spell, and the few candles about the room lit themselves, casting long shadows about the room. I took a few steps forward, intent on getting some more candles from the kitchen, when a loud noise tore through the silence.

I froze, hand flying to my chest. I could hear my heart pounding, but I instantly felt foolish as I realized it was just my telephone ringing. I am not used to hearing it going off, as no one knows my number. I don't even know it for that matter, but it is in my lease that I have to have one. Some strange thing the landlord has, but I am not going to get into that.

I headed towards it, just on the corner of my worktable, and picked it up.

"Hello?" I asked. I wonder who would want to call me right now. Perhaps the landlord to explain the sudden lack of power? I didn't hear my landlord's abrasive Asian accent though. Instead, all I heard was breathing on the other end. I frowned. "Hello?" I asked again, feeling my stomach begin to clench as I looked at the shadows around my flat. Is it just me or are they looking rather menacing all of a sudden? "Who is this?"

"You think you're alone right now?" whoever was on the other end suddenly demanded. I jerked back in surprise, not only at what he had said, but how loudly and suddenly he had said it. My heart began to race again, and my eyes began to dart about the room, as though to find the source of the voice. All I saw was shadow.

"Who is this?" I demanded again, but the only response was shrill laughter.

Without a second thought I slammed the receiver down and backed up, taking in a deep breath. My heart was racing, and I could feel my hand sweating as it gripped my wand. It was just a prank. There is no reason for me to get this worked up. No one can get into my flat with all these wards my dad had put in. But for some reason all I want is for Sneazel to be here with me, and for the power to come back on so that all these creepy shadows will go away.

There was a noise behind me and I whirled around, only to feel my eyes go wide as someone large came barrelling towards me. I heard a yelp as the man grabbed my shoulders and shoved me backward, causing me to crash into my work table before hitting the bookshelf. Books crashed to the ground.

Belatedly I realized that I was the one who had yelped. I also began to slowly realize that my wand is no longer in my hand, and that the thing pressing into my stomach certainly isn't mine either.

I didn't let myself think about it, couldn't let myself thing about it, only drove my knee up as hard as I could, trying to ignore the panic that was suddenly trying to seize me. I don't have time to panic. Not right now.

The man, who had been clutching painfully at shoulders, let out an "oaf" and went down. I heard my housecoat rip as I wrenched myself out of his grasp before he could take me down with him. I scrambled towards my wand, which had rolled away to sit beside the couch.

My foot caught on something and I fell, landing hard on my knees. I glanced back to see a large hand holding onto my ankle, dwarfing it. The man's face, which was covered by some sort of cloth mask, loomed behind it, and I felt my blood run cold. With my heart pounding I shot out with my other foot, catching him in the face. He let out a grunt of pain and the grip on my ankle decreased enough for me to pull it free. I dove for my wand, stretching out on my stomach, and then whipped around on my back, pointing it at him, just as he was struggling to get towards me again.

"_Stuptify_" I shrieked, watching as he froze mid crouch and crashed to the ground, inches from my feet.

I stared, wild eyed. There was an odd rasping noise in the air, and it took me a moment to realize that it was my own ragged breathing. It took me another minute to realize that my ankle hurt, and yet another to realize that there was a man lying at my feet. That someone had attacked me in my own home. Had taken advantage of the black out and tried to- no, I don't even want to think about it.

Where was he even hiding in here? He wasn't in the bathroom, and not in the kitchen, since I had been in both of those rooms, so that only leaves the bedroom. But I had been in there as well. I felt my heart stop. The wardrobe. My god, he was waiting for me in the wardrobe.

Feeling my fear begin to rise again, I got to my feet and moved away from the still man. He was in my bloody wardrobe. Waiting for me to go into bed. Waiting for me to be defenceless and alone. Waiting to- no!

I raised my wand again, trying to stop it from shaking. Ignoring my inability to make it steady, I cast a spell so that ropes shot out of the end and wrapped themselves around the man's prone form. I don't know if it was rationality or a fear that he would suddenly leap up and try for me again that lead my actions.

I stared at him, my heart still pounding as the reality of it all continued to sink in. And I don't want to deal with it. I can't deal with it. I need to escape it. Need to get away from _him_. From what he had tried to do.

So without a second thought, I Apparated to the first address that popped into my mind.

o-o-o

**Works Cited:**

o- "I just looked up and there she was across the dance floor, and she was looking straight at me." – This happened to my pottery teacher's friend. He was travelling in Europe alone and walked into a club. His eyes instantly fell on this woman, and she was looking at him. They met up and ended up dancing the whole night and eventually got married. I thought it was really sweet so I put it in here. Who knew stuff like that actually happens.

o- "Let's go to where the chocolate lives." – My friend said this about muffins. It was after Pol Sci and I had a craving for them so we all went on a quest to find them.

o- I don't know how many Death by Chocolate's there are in the world, but it is a real place. They have menus of all these wonderful chocolaty desserts that just make your mouth water. I would get so fat if there was one closer to my house. Lol.

o- "You think you're alone right now?" – On the New Found Glory CD, _Sticks and Stones_, there was a secret song about thirty minutes in, where a guy shrieked this. He said a bunch of other stuff, and laughed and there were creepy sounds. The first time I heard it I was alone. Needless to say it creeped me out and I refused to listen to the CD again. I actually gave it away. Oh dear. I sound like such a wimp now.

o-o-o

A/N: Ha. Bet you weren't expecting that to happen. Lol. Other than the ending I apologise for my dull chapter. It was necessary for later on. As well, the next chapter should be longer... I hope. Oh, and just so you know, I will be increasing the rating next chapter. So if you check for this story on the updates page, please make sure you set the search to all ratings.

Many thanks to: **bigreader**(Well, I edited it on Tylenol 3s, so I was expecting a few :p)**, FemmeD, Laiannon-fae-elf**(Well, it was necessary. You will like the outcome I'm sure)**, sunflowerchild, Calla-ForEvEa, Erised, GoldenFawkes**(No, I don't think you're stalking me, not really... I hope. Lol. But seriously, thanks for taking the time to review so much of my crap. It was so fun to find a new review almost everyday for a while there :P)**, wounded-angel(**Ms Q, I like that. :) Glad your day got better)**, alenchic, Toes if the Tickled Kind(**Shovels?)**, tulzdavampslayer**(Yay! Another one of these reviews! This time I got it the morning of my first day at work. Lol. And what is it with you twisting my words around to make them nasty and wrong? Bah. Hope this chapter will keep you around. I am glaring at you right now)**, Embellished, Isadora, Ashen** and **Dustbunnie**(lol)


	9. Radar Love

Title: Paining an Oyster

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one legged lesbian seagull hotmail com (Please add 3 underscores, one "at" sign, and a period)

A/N: Well, I had wanted to get this chapter done a few weeks ago, but life got in the way. As usual. Just be happy that we got rained out today and I got to get off work a couple hours early, otherwise you would all be waiting until after HBP. Blah. Anyhoo, really not liking this chapter. I was looking so forward to writing it, but then when I got to actually doing the writing it just didn't work. I still don't think it works, but I will fight with it again when I am done the story and come back for the re-editing. But yes, hopefully you all aren't too disappointed...

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing at all. Starving student/artist here.

**Painting an Oyster**

**  
Chapter 9**

**Radar Love**

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Soundtrack: "Radar Love" by Golden Earring.

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I blinked blearily into the darkness around me, trying to figure out exactly why I was awake. There is nothing in my room which I can see, which isn't saying much since the room is pitch black. And there doesn't seem to be any sound either. All I can hear is silence. But it must have been something. I am not exactly a light sleeper, but if something is happening around me that shouldn't be I usually wake up.

I was just about to flop back into my bed and burry my face into my pillows, when I heard it: someone knocking on my door. I frowned. Why would someone want to be knocking on my door in the middle of the night? I don't know who it could be. If it was my mother or Blaise they would have just Apparated right in and not bothered with the door.

But what if something has happened to either of them and someone has just come to my door to inform me about it. I blinked. The way my life is going I shouldn't suggest such a horrid thing; the world might get ideas.

I waved my hand about blindly for the chain on my lamp. It took me a few seconds, but I got a hold of it and tugged. The light bit at my eyes, but I forced myself to get used to it. The knocking occurred again, and I shoved my duvet away and got myself out of bed. I stumbled my way towards the chair in my room and pulled on the jeans I had worn earlier this evening.

I moved out into the hall, not intending to turn on any lights, but the light that usually comes from the sitting room, with its big windows, was absent. So I turned on one of the lamps and went into my rarely used front hall. The knocking was louder and seemingly more persistent now. It almost seems as though whoever is behind the door is simply knocking at a steady pace, one hit after the other.

I got a sinking feeling in my stomach as I reached for the locks and blots on the door. Either something really horrible has happened, or someone is just playing an idiotic joke on me. At this point I don't know which I would prefer, which is rather daft of me, because do I really want to have another episode of my mother nearly dying?

With a violent shake of my head I began to unlock my door. The knocking persisted though, which should have struck me as wrong right then and there – most people stop knocking when they hear the door being unlocked from the other side. Whoever is behind this door is either very stupid or very stressed. I am hoping for their part that it is the latter; otherwise I just might have to hurt them for dragging me out of bed at some god-awful hour.

I jerked the door open and stopped. Whatever it was that I had been expecting to be behind this door certainly wasn't this. I blinked. Am I dreaming? It certainly seems like the beginning of one of those dreams that I have been having lately – though she does seem to be wearing a bit too much for this to be a dream.

"Weasley?" I asked, my voice coming out croakier than I expected it to. If she noticed she didn't show it. In fact, I don't even think that she has even realized that I am standing here. Her hand is still in the air as though to pound on my door some more, her body surreally stiff.

When she didn't reply I continued. "When I said to come talk to me when you decided to grow up, I didn't mean for you to show up at," I glanced at my watch. Is it really that late? "Three in the morning. Couldn't you have waited until morning?"

Nothing. Not a single thing. Since when does Weasley not snap back at me when I am a snarky ass to her? Two weeks couldn't have changed her that much, could they? And why does that thought bother me?

As I was thinking this I found that my eyes were travelling – of their own accord – across her body. Her feet were naked again, the toenails painted a rather ghastly shade of pink – which hadn't been there the last time. Her legs were still ever long; thin and smooth, traveling up and disappearing under a line of lace. Lace. Dammit, she's wearing that damned lacy thing again. I began to scowl, but my eyes couldn't help but feast on the way her body looks in it. The way her hips pulled slightly at the fabric, or at how low cut the top is, showing off more than just a hint of her crest, which was heaving beneath it.

Her housecoat was hanging off of her right shoulder, her arm hanging beside her body, clutching at her wand. Her knuckles were white, which also struck me as odd; as if her standing here is not weird enough to begin with. Why is she here anyways? And why isn't she saying anything? And why is she dressed in that _thing_? She didn't come here to apologise, did she? For real? And if she did, she isn't going to do it like she did in my dreams, is she?

My eyes continued upwards, taking in the way her hair was a wavy mass about her head, as though she had just woken up. My fingers itched to run through it, but I told them to forget it, just as I am supposed to be forgetting her. Her face was pale, paler than usual, but it is probably just the light. And it is making those damned freckles of hers stand out more.

I finally came to rest at her eyes, and I felt my heart skip a beat.

"Weasley?" I asked again, watching her haunted eyes. Still she did not respond. I slowly reached out and grasped her hand, which was still raised in the air. "Weasley, are you alright?"

Slowly her eyes turned towards me. Then she blinked. She didn't try to pull her hand out of mine as I held it between us. It felt small and clammy in my own. Bloody hell, what happened?

"No," she replied, her voice low but not quite a whisper. "I'm not." She blinked again, and almost as if a switch had been flipped she began to move as though she was human again. Despite her reanimation, she still did not remove her hand from mine, as she should have if she was acting normally. I began to get a very bad feeling about all of this.

"What do you mean you're not?" I asked, my voice sounding so much louder than hers. "What happened?"

"I didn't want to come here," she said, blinking again.

I stared at her. Why does that statement burn? Why should it surprise me that she would tell me that? I know she hates me, just as I should hate her.

"But I couldn't think of anywhere else to go," she continued. "Sneazel's at Charlie's, Zach's in Mexico, and Luna's at her boyfriend's, and Colin is off in the Sahara somewhere. And I didn't want to go to my brothers, because they would freak out. So would my parents. So I came here, and-"

"Weasley," I said, cutting off the sudden rush of speech which I had not expected. As she continued on her voice was getting louder, more high pitched. More frantic. If something really is wrong why would she come to me instead of her family? What could have happened that would have made them freak out and send her to me? I felt my chest begin to tighten with dread. "What happened?"

"Someone was in my flat," she said simply, giving a little shrug as she said it, as though to rid herself of the burden of the statement. I felt my hand grip hers tighter before I even realized I was doing it.

"What?" I demanded, looking at her.

I tried to detect her lie, tried to find the joke that she was playing on me, but I couldn't find it. Merlin, she was all alone in her flat and someone got in? I felt suddenly rush of anger and dread at the idea of it, along with the need to protect her from whomever it had been. But that's just stupid. She doesn't need me to protect her. She can take care of herself. She has told me this and I have told her family this. So why is she at my door then, looking as though the world is about to end?

"And I didn't want to stay with him in there," she continued and shrugged again, suddenly looking small and very fragile. The type of fragile you don't even want to breathe around in case you break it by accident. "So I came here."

"He's still in there?" I asked, gripping her hand yet tighter, as though by doing so all the answers would come out.

She nodded at me, glancing quickly behind her, as though looking for whoever it had been. "I used my wand and stunned him, and then I tied him up." She shook her head slightly. "And I didn't want to go to sleep with him lying on my floor."

"He was in your room?" I nearly yelled, feeling the anger boil up again. In her room? What was he doing in her room? A hundred different scenarios ran through my head, each getting worse and worse. I shook my head slightly to rid myself of them. I didn't want to see them. I didn't want them to be true.

"He was hiding in my wardrobe," she confirmed, looking about again. "He came out when the power went out and the phone rang." She paused. "I was painting."

"The power went out?" I asked.

She only nodded to this question, looking around yet again. "You don't think he would have followed me, do you?"

The idea seemed stupid, but I looked around as well, narrowing my eyes. Without another thought I pulled on her hand, which was still clasped in mine, and drew her into my flat. I closed the door behind her, locking it with my free hand. Then I turned back to her, watching as she looked around.

I let go of her hand as reality began to sink it. There had been someone in Weasley's flat. Someone had been in there while she was alone. Had tried to do whatever it was that they had wanted to do – and I have a good idea of what it could have been. And they are still in there.

Without a word I turned away from the red head and stormed into my sitting room. I grabbed a handful of floo powder and threw it into the empty fireplace. Green flames burst to life. "The Ministry of Defence," I demanded, before dropping to my knees and shoving my head into the flames.

When my visions cleared all I saw was a room filled with empty cubicles, with the exception of one. A man was sound asleep in the one across from me, and though all I could see was his back, I knew exactly who it was. I don't want to know how, but I knew.

"Potter," I shouted, quickly looking around the room once more. Why would Potter of all people be working the graveyard shift? Didn't he have some woman at home or something? "Potter, get over here!"

I watched as the man's back shifted. It obviously doesn't take much to wake him from slumber. Though if someone had shouted at me, I don't think I would be able to sleep through it either. Slowly his mop of black hair lifted and turned towards me. He blinked blearily at me through those blasted green eyes, his skin so pale that both they and his scar stood out visibly. He blinked again before sitting up straighter.

"Malfoy?" he asked, his hands fumbling for his glasses, which were on his desk. "Why are you in the fireplace? What's going on?"

"Someone is in Weasley's flat," I told him, trying to ignore the rage that statement is causing me to feel. I don't want to have to figure out just yet why I am feeling it at all. If someone was trying to do away with Weasley, shouldn't I feel happy about it? If she is dead in reality, then shouldn't she die in my mind as well? Somehow I get the feeling that the exact opposite would occur.

"What?" Potter asked, frowning at me now as he pulled himself out of his chair. He pulled at his clothes, but the rumpledness did not go away, and he didn't seem to care either. "How would you know if someone's in Ron's flat?"

My mouth nearly fell open. That is the second time he has made the assumption that I am having dealings with that buffoon. You would think after the last few episodes, which he has threatened me with castration for, that he would figure out that I only care for the female Weasley. Well, not care for her in that sense, but care to deal with her. Alright, care was certainly the wrong word, but I don't have time for this, just as I don't have time to yell at him for mixing the two up again. It's not like they are anything alike, well, with the exception of the family name and the hair and freckles. But even then- no time!

"Not him, you git!" I shouted, trying to ignore the tirade that was currently going through my head. "Ginny's!" Potter's eyes widened but I continued. "Someone was in her flat and attacked her. He's tied up in there now, so you better get there before he escapes, otherwise I am going to bring it to the world's attention that you aren't competent enough to be in your position!"

"No need to get so cranky about it," he hissed, turning around and grabbing his cloak from the wall of his cubical, then his wand from the surface of his desk. "Where is she now?"

"She's with me," I told him, then continued without thinking. "And she is going to stay with me until morning. Just get the bastard and I will bring her to you once she has calmed down."

Potter nodded his head then came towards the fireplace. "Fine," he said. "Contact me when she's awake." I nodded and pulled my head back, breaking the connection.

I sat back on my heels and looked into my now empty fireplace. What have I just done? How am I supposed to forget about Weasley when she is sleeping in my flat? When there are scant rooms between us and all I have to do is walk over there to have concrete evidence to remember her by? And not only that, but now I am going to have to sleep on my couch. Why didn't I just tell Potter to come and get her? Why am I such an idiot?

I heard one of the locks on my door turn, and I bolted to my feet. I was in the hallway before I even realized I had moved, wand at the ready. I wasn't sure what I was expecting to see, perhaps someone coming in to try and finish Weasley off, or perhaps Potter reconsidering the plan. I wasn't expecting Weasley to be the one unlocking my door, pulling it open just as I came into view.

"Where are you going?" I asked, striding forward and grabbing a hold of the door so that it stood half open between us. She pulled at the doorknob, but I didn't let the door move.

"I shouldn't have come here," she said, looking up at me.

Her eyes were no longer as wide as they had been. The shock in them was fading, as though her present reality was sinking in. For some reason it stung that she would want to leave as soon as she realized where she was. Am I truly that horrible? Does she really hate me that much? Sure, I know she hates me, but to risk going back to a stranger in her home over staying with me? The simple fact that there was still horror in her eyes kept me from shoving her out the door she wanted to so badly to walk out.

"And why is that?" I asked, my voice coming out cold. I should have tried to cover it up, but at this point I can't seem to really care. What is it that she wants from me? What am I supposed to do to convince her that I am different from before? And why is it that I suddenly want to prove it to her like never before? Why do I care if Weasley thinks badly of me? I shouldn't care, but it seems I do.

"Because you don't want me here," she said simply, dropping her eyes and pulling on the door knob again. "You don't want to have anything to do with me. Just as I shouldn't want to have anything to do with you. So I'm just going to leave so we can both get what we want. Should want."

I stared down on her, blinking. She thinks that I don't want her here? But I do. For some idiotic reason I do. I should throw myself out the window for this, but I realize that I do. Why, I don't know. But I do.

This could be my chance to rid her from my life for good, though. I could lie to her and tell her that I don't want her here, that I want nothing to do with her. And then she will leave forever. Leave and I will be rid of her, only to remember that horrified look in her eyes when I kicked her out of my flat. When I let her have what she thought she wanted. What both of us should want.

With a jerk of my hand I tore the door from her hands and slammed the door shut. I deftly relocked all of the locks, then turned to face her once more. Her brown eyes were wide, looking up at me. Why does she have to look so small right now? Why does she have to look so in need of care? And why in bloody hell do I want to be taking care of her!

"I don't want that," I said quietly before my brain even registered what I was saying. If I had known what I was about to say I would have held my breath until I passed out – which is probably why my mouth said it before it informed my brain of what it was going to say. It knew I would do anything and everything in my power to have kept that in. But now it's out. Bloody hell it's out. And now she is crying.

"But you should," she said, tears pooling at the bottom of he eyes, making the white part go red and the brown stand out. "We should hate each other. We should want nothing to do with one another."

"I know," I said, watching as the first tear began to roll down her cheek.

And I do. I do know that we should hate each other, want nothing to do with each other. But I don't care. I don't think I have cared for a while, though I have been trying to convince myself otherwise. But why is it that I have to realize this when she is standing in front of me, looking as though she has lost the world?

My hands seemed to move as though they had a mind of their own, and before I knew what I was doing, I had pulled Weasley into my arms, pressing her against me. She buried her face into my chest and it only took a second before she began crying in earnest. Though if she was crying for what happened to her, or our sudden revelation, is beyond me.

How can this be happening to me? How could my world have changed so much just by having her in it? Why is it that as soon as she shows up in my life my sex drive changes? Why is it that she shows up everywhere I am? Why is it that I want to see her everywhere I go? Why does the fact that she is a Weasley not bother me? And why am I rubbing her back as though I care? I don't care. Do I? Merlin I hope not. I can not afford to care for a Weasley.

It took about five minutes before her sobs subsided, though she was still breathing heavily, the air making my skin tingle. I tried to shut the feeling out of my mind, but it isn't helping. I can feel the tingling spreading through the rest of my body, down to places I can't let tingle.

"I'll take the couch," I said, taking her by the arms and pulling her away from me before she could screw around with anymore of my body. I felt cold with the absence of her skin against mine. "You can sleep in my bed."

"I don't want to sleep alone," she said quietly, and I felt my brain freeze.

She couldn't have just said that, could she? She couldn't have just said what I think she said, could she have? And even if on the off chance that she did say it, why would she say it? Why would she want to have me, of all people, to sleep beside her? Is she really that desperate? That she would want someone she is trying to hate to lay beside her? And why is my brain not rejecting this idea as it should be? Oh, that's right, because I have been dreaming about this moment for the past few weeks. Bloody hell.

"What?" I asked, just to be sure. She could have said something else; she could have said something different. Though I know I do not want her to have said anything different.

"I don't want to sleep alone," she repeated quietly, not lifting her head to look at me.

She said it again. Why would she repeat herself if she didn't want it to happen? But how can this be happening? She hates me. I should hate her. She shouldn't' even be here. I shouldn't want her to be here. But she is here, and for the life of me I don't want her to leave.

I looked at her standing there, so small and unlit before me. What ever happened to the Weasley I knew, the fiery one that hated me looking at her ass? That was neurotic and irritating? How am I supposed to hate her when she is standing there, looking like that? Is this what is hidden under the usual Weasley? Is this what is under all of the fieriness and insanity? Someone in need of care? Is this what her friends see, her non-boyfriend? Is this why they all feel the need to look out for her? Because if it is, then I think I am finally beginning to understand. The question is though, does she see it herself? I am beginning to get the feeling that she doesn't. But is that a good thing or a bad thing?

"Fine," I said, my voice coming as a surprise to me. It almost sounded eager, even to me. "The bed's big enough for the both of us." I paused. "Just tell me that you are not a blanket hog."

She slowly looked up at me, a glint of something in her eye that looked more like the Weasley I know. The alive and self-confident one, who doesn't take anybody's shit. The one that I prefer.

"Don't tell me you are afraid of a bit of cold when you sleep, Malfoy," she said, grinning up at me suddenly, eradicating the weak woman who stood before me moments before. I almost smiled at her in return, though I don't know why. Isn't this the one that drove me insane, who has haunted my dreams and tormented my mind? Why would I be happy that she is back? At least with that other version she was quiet and, well, not Weasley.

"No," I replied, beginning to walk past her. She followed me. "I just like my blanket."

"The almighty ferret has a security blankey," she cooed, following me as I turned off the hall light and entered my room.

She stopped a few feet in and looked around. I closed the door behind her, then walked towards the chair in the corner, taking off my jeans as I went. When I glanced back at her I saw that she was scowling at me. I frowned back at her.

"What? Never seen a man take his pants off before, Weasley?" I asked, dropping them onto the chair and turning to face her. I couldn't hep but grin slightly as her eyes flicked down before returning to my own.

She snorted. "You do remember that I have six brothers, don't you?" she replied, moving further into the room, to the left hand side of the bed. I couldn't help but approve of that. The Cheating Bitch was always after my side of the bed. Why the hell do I keep comparing the two of them?

"You know, I always suspected that there was something going on between you and that oaf of Potter's," I drawled, unable to resist widening my smirk a bit more. I know I shouldn't be an ass now of all times, but she did leave it wide open.

"Oh, grow up," she snapped, pulling the sheets back and crawling in. She pulled them up to her chin and glared at me. "Just because your family participates in such heinous acts, doesn't mean mine does as well."

"Ouch," I replied, and couldn't help but laugh slightly as I made my way to the right hand side of the bed. "You really are awful when you're tired."

"Bite me," she said, then dropped her head onto the pillow, and turned her back on me. I looked at it, the housecoat (which she hadn't taken off) blocking my view of the lacy thing. I could see her hair perfectly though, spilling all over the pillows as it was.

"Is that an insult or a request?" I asked, settling myself down and grinning at her from across the bed.

I watched as she raised her middle finger up over the edge of the covers, but said no more. I let out a snort of amusement despite myself, and rolled over so my back was facing hers.

You know, I will admit that for the briefest of moments that I almost preferred the demurred and scared Weasley that she was when I opened the door. That Weasley was so much quieter and agreeable. Pleasant almost. But then, it was this attitude of hers that caught my attention to begin with, didn't it? Wasn't it my love for her anger that started all this in the first place? Wasn't that what lead to me trying to forget her? Isn't that why I can't? Isn't that why I am not trying to hex her for that horrid insult of my family? Isn't that why she came here?

Why did she come here, now that I think about it? It's not like she doesn't have other friends besides her non-boyfriend and Lovegood. But then she did say her other friend was in the Sahara, didn't she? So why wouldn't she go to her parents then? Why come to me of all people? Especially when she thought I was mad at her. Which I was- am- was- I don't know anymore. It's hard to be mad at someone who just got attacked, but it's easier when they are bursting with attitude like she is right now.

With a slight shake of my head I tried to rid myself of my thoughts. They will not be conducive to sleeping. Though I can never fall asleep right away anyways, might as well give myself something to mull over. And that kind of stuff is better to mull over than the idea that Weasley is lying just a few feet away, wearing that damned silky thing, just like in my dreams.

With a shake of my head I pulled the chain on my light, plunging us both into blackness. I dropped onto my back, and looked up to where I knew the ceiling was. It would be so easy to just roll over and move toward her. To wrap my arms around her and hold her. To take off those scant clothes she has on. To-to nothing. I shouldn't be thinking about this. So I have discovered that I don't find our not hating each other wrong, it does not mean I need to be jumping her bones or anything. Not to mention that she was attacked in her own home, not that she is acting as though she was anymore, but still.

The sound of moving sheets distracted me away from my thoughts. A moment later the mattress shifted as Weasley get out of bed. I heard her fumbling around in the darkness, then suddenly the darkness went away.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded, sitting up and glaring at her. She was standing by the now open curtains, where rain had begun to splatter against the glass. She had her hands on her hips and was now glaring back at me.

"It's too dark in here," she told me, pulling the curtains closed again, but leaving them half open so light still filled the room. I looked around with dread. There is no way I am going to be able to ever fall asleep with her beside me and all this light around me. "I can't sleep in a pitch black room."

"Well then just close your eyes, Weasley," I sneered, suddenly feeling very irritated. Here I let her stay with me, and she has to go and open my window. Why do I have to suffer to help her once again? Why do I always lose when I try to help? It's not like I am expecting anything from her in return. "And imagine that there is light in the room. I can't sleep with light in my eyes."

"Well why don't you just close your eyes then," she snapped back, crawling back into bed – closer to me than she was the first time – and pulling the covers up to her chin. "It's just as dark that way and it doesn't affect me."

"You do remember whose bed you are lying in, right Weasley?" I growled, watching as she once again rolled over and turned her back on me. She took a large portion of the blanket with her as she did so, pulling it across my body so half of it became exposed.

"Kind of hard to forget when it smells just like you," she said, her voice muffled slightly by the pillow she had dropped her head onto. "You and your stupid ferrety smell." She muttered that last part.

"Why do I even bother being nice to you?" I demanded, glaring down on her. And really, I can't figure it out. I always get the short end of the wand when I do. I never get anything out of it, other than to have to deal with her crankiness. Why was I ever struggling to not forget her? Why would I want to remember her? Just look at her: she's so damned annoying and irritating and horribly freckled and Weasley. And she is lying in my damned bed, taking up a good chunk of my blanket, making me sleep with my curtain open. And the worst of it is that I have no ambition to correct any of it.

"This is what you call being nice?" she asked, her voice still muffled with half of my duvet. I scowled at her.

"And what would you call it Weasley?" I moved towards her a few feet and grabbed onto my blanket, giving it a tug as I rolled over onto my side, turning my back on her as well. I moodily dropped my head onto my pillow and glared across my now lit room. The shadows played across the walls as the rain continued to come down. It must have gotten heavier because I can hear it quite clearly now.

It was a few moments before I realized that she wasn't going to answer me. I frowned across the room. "Weasley?" I asked. "Weasley tell me what you would call it." When she still didn't answer I rolled over onto my other side, starting slightly as I realized just how close I was lying beside her. I would only have to move about a foot before I could snuggle in behind her.

Trying to ignore that thought, I poked her in the back. "Weasley?"

"Gah!" she said, lifting her head and turning it to glare at me. "If I would have known you were going to be this annoying _I_ would have slept on the couch."

"No you wouldn't have," I told her, not quite understanding why I said it.

"Yes, I would have," she said, turning her head away again and dropping it down onto her pillow once more. "Now will you let me go to sleep?"

I stared at her. From this angle I can just see the beginnings of her cheek beyond all of her hair. Before I even realized what I was doing my left hand moved forward slightly and caught in the tips of her hair that was spread across the sheets before me. It was softer than I expected it to be; the kind of soft you want to run your face against and nuzzle. Not that I want to nuzzle Weasley – do I? I frowned, willing my hand to pull away. The last thing I need is for her to figure out that I am playing with her hair. I will just have to wait till she is asleep than I can revel in its softness all I want. I did not just think that.

You know, if she had not opened that curtain, I wouldn't be able to see her lying here. I wouldn't know which way she is facing, where her hair is lying, which expression is on her face. Well, I can't see that at the moment either, but if I sat up I could. Perhaps that is where I went wrong with The Cheating Bitch. I never let her have any lights on. She didn't like the idea but she did put up with it, for a while. So I didn't let my finance have any lights, but I let Weasley? It just doesn't make sense. No sense at all. What has this blasted woman done to me?

"Weasley," I said quietly, shaking my head as I did so. I waited for her to say something, but all she did was grunt slightly. "Goodnight."

She paused, then said, "Goodnight, Malfoy," before both of us fell into silence once more.

o-o-o

I awoke to the feeling of my back being wonderfully warm. My back is usually the coldest part of my body. In the winter I usually end up charming the bed to warm up just that spot, so that I don't feel the chill and can rest easier. Samuel was good that way, if he was ever good at anything. He always liked to spoon me from behind. I don't want to analyse his motives, because he did have them, but it kept my back warm. Wonderfully warm, like right now.

I slowly opened my eyes, only to be greeted by a wall across my room. That's funny. There should be a door right across from me if I am lying on my right side, not a wall. And even if I was facing the other way I should be able to see the window. But no window either, just a painting of what seems to be buildings. I looked around, taking in the huge four-poster I'm sleeping on and the arm that is wrapped around my waist.

Wait- arm? I felt my eyes go wide as I quickly looked down on myself, but a thick blanket was covering me, the arm resting over top of it. My hands darted up and I pulled it back, dreading what I would see. A bark of laughter in my ear made my blood run cold. This cannot be happening.

"You still have your clothes on, Weasley," an all too familiar drawl said into my ear. I could hear his chest rumble as he said it, pressed into my back as it was. "Though I could change that if you would like."

Merlin, Malfoy is the one making my back so wonderfully warm. Malfoy is spooning up against me. Malfoy. I am in bloody Malfoy's bed! How the hell did I get in here? How did he con me into getting into his bed so that he could spoon me? How- oh.

"It wasn't a dream?" I asked, dreading the truth.

It would mean that someone had attacked me in my flat, tried to- I still can't think it. That I came to Malfoy of all people, for help. That I cried on his shoulder. That, like a pathetic slut, I claimed that I didn't want to sleep alone. That I slept in Malfoy's bed. And that at some point he decided he was going to spoon against me. Bloody hell, why do I keep waking up to mornings like this?

"No," he said, his chest still rumbly and his voice gruff with sleep. I turned my head to find his face inches away, looking down on me. "It was real. We have to go to the Aurors as soon as you feel up to it."

"Oh," I said, not quite sure what else I could say. I turned my head away again and just lay there, not knowing what to do. I didn't want to move, despite who was holding me, I just didn't want to.

Why did I come here of all places? I wasn't thinking when I had Apparated away. I hadn't been thinking of anything but the first address that popped into my mind, which had happened to be his. I could have gone to Luna, but there had been the chance that she was at her boyfriend's. I could have gone home, but I didn't. I don't know why I didn't. Wouldn't it have made more sense to go home to the Burrow, or to one of my brothers?

All of my brothers though, well save for Ron, who is currently sharing a flat with Harry, have wives and girlfriends. It would have been awkward to interrupt them. So instead I came to Malfoy? I must have been completely out of it at the time. But can you blame me? He was hiding in my wardrobe.

A slight tugging at my scalp made me turn my thoughts away from what had happened. I frowned and glanced over my shoulder to find Malfoy's overlong fingers in my hair, twisting and turning it. I watched for a moment then the reality of it sunk in: why is Malfoy willingly holding me? Or better yet, why is he playing with my hair? Why is he being so nice about all of this? If I would have been in his shoes I wouldn't have been so nice about my screwing up his sleeping pattern. So why is he? It just doesn't make any sense. Sure, he has changed, but still, isn't this a bit too much, even for him?

"Malfoy," I asked, watching his finger next to my head on the pillow. "What are you doing?"

He was silent for a moment, though his fingers never stopped moving. Then I felt him shrug. "Playing with your hair it seems."

"Oh," I said again, feeling ever the smart one. Well, what do you say when a Malfoy admits something like that? "Why?"

He was silent for another moment, then I felt him shrug again. "Because I can?"

I stopped, the sort of fuzzy feeling that had been in me – and I hadn't even realized that it was there – dropping away. Because he can? Because he can! What the hell!

"Oh, so since I am conveniently in your bed, you figure you can do what you want with me?" I demanded coldly, trying to pull away from him. His arm around my waist held on though.

"What?" he asked with confusion, then clamped onto me harder. "No. Weasley- look it's first thing in the morning. You had a rough night, just- relax!"

"Relax while you have your way with me?" I said, squirming for all I was worth.

Somewhere in the back of my mind a voice said that I was overreacting, that I was making a fool of myself; but I ignored it and kept trying to get away from him. I almost thought I was making progress when his other hand slipped under me, trying to hold me still. I reached out and grabbed onto the sheets, trying to use them to pull myself away.

"It came out wrong, ok?" he asked, sounding slightly out of breath. Good.

"I don't care," I said, trying to pull away, but his hands were holding me about the waist, nearly cutting off my air supply. I stopped trying to pull myself away, and instead began to whack at him with my hands. I also started to kick my feet. I know I shouldn't be reacting this way, but now that I have started, it would be a bit stupid to stop. Not that that isn't a stupid reason to keep doing it. "Just let me go."

"Weasley," he said, his voice near my ear. I ignored the shiver that went through me as his breath played across my skin. "Just- Ow!" I paused. "That was my bloody nose you just hit!"

Before I knew what was happening, he hand both of my hands clasped in one of his, and I was on my back, my arms forced above my head. A moment later he was straddling my hips, glaring down on me as he did so. With his free hand he was rubbing his nose, making him look both childish and adorable. I did not just use that last adjective, especially not while he has me pinned like this.

"Oh come on," I said, glaring up at him. His hair had fallen into his eyes, and I couldn't help but feel a little triumphant at that. "It couldn't have hurt that much." I tried to buck him off of me. "Now stop touching me."

"Oh right," he sneered, not moving in anyway to change his position. "I forgot. You're a touchaphobe."

"I hope you also remember that it is only when you are doing the touching," I hissed back, still glaring. Well, there wasn't much else for me to do, save scream bloody murder – though if I know Malfoy he will have enough charms around this place that it won't make a lick of difference if I try.

"What's wrong with you?" he demanded, his frown increasing and his breathing still heavy.

"What's wrong with me?" I demanded, not being able to help but laugh after saying it. "Oh I don't know, perhaps being attacked in my own home has something to do with it? Or the fact that I was nearly squished by a falling piece of fucking metal, or that my brother was right about me quitting my job, or that my dog is at my brother's, or that you are bloody well sitting on me?" I jerked at my hands as I said that last bit. "Or how about the fact that-"

My tirade was suddenly cut off by his lips crushing down on top of mine. I managed to let out a surprised squeak just before his tongue forced its way into my mouth, moving about as though it owned the place, stroking and invading every inch of it. I tried to pull away, but he just pressed down harder, forcing my head back into the pillow. I was just about to try biting his tongue off, since it was so conveniently placed in reach of my teeth, when my brain made contact with my nerves, and I realized exactly how good this felt.

I don't think I have ever been kissed like this, as though the kisser owned me, possessed me, wanted more than just my body. It made me tingle all over just thinking about the implications of it – though if it was for fear or excitement I don't think I have the brain capacity to figure it out at the moment. My brain has just shut off you see, and my body has taken over. Why do I say this? Because for some bloody reason I am kissing him back.

His weight shifted, so that the hand holding mine pressed down harder, allowing his free hand to move about, leaving a trail of fire as it made it's way from my arm, down to my navel. I couldn't help but whimper as it made its way back up, catching at my breast and not letting go. Malfoy's lips pulled into a smirk against mine as my nipples instantly hardened while his hand began pinching and groping in ways that never felt so erotic and exciting.

I tugged at my hands, trying to free them from the vice grip he had them in, but they didn't budge. My fingers suddenly itched to run across the skin of his back, to find out what his hair felt like. They itched to grab onto him and never let go, but he wouldn't let go himself. So instead I found myself arching towards him, trying to touch him, any part of him, with any part of my body.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he said, pulling his mouth away from mine long enough to say so. Some part of my brain agreed with him, but was drowned out as soon as his lips reconnected with mine. All the rest of my brain wanted was for this to never stop. For him to keep my breast aching, both from abuse and need; for him to keep kissing me as though he owns me. For him to take this a few more steps further.

"We shouldn't," I agreed, panting, as his lips pulled away from mine and dropped down onto my cheek, moving towards my chin and leaving a hot wet trail. I once again tugged at my hands.

"We should stop," he added, his breath hot against my skin as he kissed his way down my neck. I rolled my head to the side, shivering as he began to nip at it, kissing each bite as he went.

"We should," I agreed again breathlessly, moaning as his lips found the junction of my neck and shoulder. His breath came out in a snort at that, but I ignored it, instead choosing to pull at my hands some more. "So why aren't you stopping?"

"Good question," he said, his lips once again moving downward. They reached the hem of my slip and I almost sighed at the thought of the sensation ending, until his mouth closed around my nipple through the material. A groan escaped my lips before I could hold it back, and I felt my back arch off the bed before I even realized I was moving.

"You're addictive," he finally concluded, the feel of his hot breath against the damp material making me squirm all over again.

My toes curled as frustration began to flow through me, pooling in my groin. My body ached to touch his, to lean up against it, to feel it, but he was cruelly keeping himself suspended over me, only touching me at the hips and my hands. Though those places were burning with the sensation of his body heat, it still wasn't the same. I want to _feel_ him. I want to know what it is like to run my fingers across his chest, know what kind of sounds he will make when I dig my nails into him. Know how far that little trail of hair that runs down his flat stomach goes. With these thoughts I began to tug even more frantically, to no avail.

Somewhere in my brain I was beginning to realize that this was wrong. That this shouldn't be happening and that I shouldn't be going along with it. That I should be realizing that if we go as far as my body wants to go, as far as most of my mind is more than willing to go, that things will be even more fucked up than they already are. That I am going to regret all of this; that we both will. Enemies are not supposed to fall in love. Not that this has anything to do with love. This is just lust – plain and simple; an outlet for all the tension that has been building between us, nothing more.

His weight shifted again and he moved off of my hips. One of his legs pressed down between mine and something hard pressed into my thigh. It was my turn to smirk at that. Who would have thought that I, of all people, could have this effect on Malfoy? It almost gave me a sense of pride, though I don't know why exactly.

I let out a sudden yelp of pain before I even realized what was happening. Malfoy stiffened overtop of me and he pulled his lips away from the breast he had been suckling, letting the cold suddenly attack the wet material covering it. I shuddered at the feeling, wanting nothing more than for him to warm me up again. By his stiffness though, I am beginning to realize that that isn't going to happen.

"What?" he asked, looking down on me with confusion and, could it possibly be concern? I only shook my head in response. Why would anything hurt when he has down nothing but set me on fire? "Ginny, what's wrong?"

His hand, which was now resting on the top of my thigh drifted back upwards, to where my hipbone juts out. I cringed despite myself as I felt pain shoot up through my body. I actually felt it this time, really felt it. Or rather, my consciousness registered that it was there, unlike the last time when only my body and voice did.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed and he pulled the blanket down away from us, exposing our bodies to the chilly air of the room. I looked down and watched as his hand moved down to the hem of my slip. I had half a mind to stop him, though the realization that I had wanted nothing more than his naked body against mine a few seconds ago prevented me from doing so. It would be, well, I don't know. Instead of thinking about it I watched as he drew it upwards until my underwear was exposed, along with it a ghastly bruise that covered the whole of my right hipbone. How could I not have felt that while I was sleeping on that side?

As I stared at it an image of the man silhouetted against the meagre light from the window flashed through my mind. I shuddered, suddenly feeling cold despite the chill of the room, or Malfoy's body so close to mine. How did I manage to get to sleep last night with that sitting about in my head? And why would seeing it now suddenly make me want to curl up and hide? Why wasn't this happening all night? Though I must admit, I don't think I was thinking too clearly when I came here, if how I acted is any indication.

I dragged my eyes away the bruise, yet the image didn't go away as easily. I turned my attention to Malfoy, hoping that for some reason he would scare the monster away. Bloody hell, how can I look to him for help? So we don't hate each other anymore, and so what if he puts all other kisses to shame? It doesn't mean he is my knight in shining armour. Though if that is the case, why did I come here of all places when I needed help? Gah.

"He touched you," he said quietly, drawing my attention away from my thoughts. I looked at him again, only to find his eyes fixated on the bruise. His hand slowly released mine, and I brought them down towards my chest, rubbing at my wrists. Then, still looking at my bruise, he rolled off me, sitting up beside me. The cold I was feeling increased. "Didn't he? He gave this to you."

My eyes drifted down to the bruise again, and I couldn't help but shiver. It probably wasn't the most reassuring thing to have done, for Malfoy instantly stiffened. I don't know why the thought of someone else touching me would put him so on edge, but it has.

Without a second thought I reached out and pulled the hem of my slip back down into place, hiding the ugly mark. Though I can't see it anymore, I can feel it, sense it. And it isn't helping the image in my mind's eye at all. If anything that guy is getting bigger, darker, more surreal than before. I pulled myself up into a sitting position as well, pulling my housecoat closer around my shoulders. The fact that I was still wearing it when I went to bed didn't even faze me.

Something must have caught Malfoy's attention when I did that though, because he was looking at where the blanket was resting on our legs. A moment later he pulled the blanket the rest of the way back, revealing my knees. There were bruises on my knees as well. Though as I stared at them I didn't think about the man or crawling towards my wand; all I could think about was the time I had tripped when I was a kid and skinned both my knees. And just when they had begun to heal up I had tripped over a tree root and skinned them all over again. I wonder why that of all things would pop into my mind.

"I didn't think I fell that hard," I said quietly, my voice almost starling me. I hadn't even realized that I was going to speak.

"You fell?" Malfoy demanded, his hand reaching out, though it stopped before he could do whatever it was he had planned to do. I didn't bother looking up.

"I dropped my wand when he crashed into me," I replied, still looking at my knees. "He grabbed my ankle when I was trying to get it, and I tripped."

"Which ankle?" he asked me, pulling the blanket further away. I let my eyes wander down to the bottoms of my legs, but thankfully there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with either of my ankles. Funny how my ankle wouldn't bruise while everything else did, especially when you consider that his hand had been so big.

"The left one," I said, trying to block out the sudden image out of my mind. His hand, on my ankle, was moving higher, the rough skin of it making me shudder. And it kept moving higher and higher until- I shook my head, focusing on Malfoy, his elegant hand reaching out and gently probing the same ankle. For some reason the sight soothed the other image in my mind, making it less real, less clear. Like fog when it begins to lift.

"He didn't-" he began to ask, looking up at me, but cut off. His eyes were resting at my right shoulder; I watched them as they began to narrow. I narrowed mine as well, then glanced down. I did a double take. The fabric between the sleeve and the hood and been torn a good foot or so. I stared at it, a ripping noise suddenly echoing through my head. I shuddered again.

Malfoy moved beside me, and I looked up to see him getting off the bed. I stared after him, a feeling of foreboding rising in my stomach. I don't want to be left in here on my own, not when there is a wardrobe in here. I glanced at it once more, but it remained still.

"What are you doing?" I asked, watching as he moved towards a chair in the corner of the room, still dressed in his boxers.

"Putting my jeans on," he said, as he did just that. He kept his back towards me the entire time, so I couldn't see what was on his face. I was getting the feeling that I wasn't supposed to see, that he didn't want me to see.

"Why?" I asked, following him with my eyes as he moved towards the door near the foot of the bed. He paused as he opened it, finally glancing back at me.

"I need to talk to Potter," he said, his face blank once more. Then his eyes travelled over me, and they seemed to soften ever so slightly. I must have imagined that though, because they would never do that towards me. Other women perhaps – though I doubt it – but not me. Though as to why I would want to imagine it I don't think I want to know. "You should go back to sleep. It's only six in the morning."

"Six?" I asked, glancing down on my watch only to discover that it was true. How could it be so early? That's only two and a half hours of sleep and I don't feel all that tired. Ok, maybe I do, now that I think about it, but still.

I looked back at Malfoy only to find him nodding at me, then he turned his head away again and walked out of the room. He pulled the door closed behind him, and it made a soft click as it rested in the frame. I stared at it for a moment, suddenly feeling trapped. I glanced over at the wardrobe once more. Why would he leave me alone in here with it?

I thought I heard him say something on the other side of the door, drawing my attention back towards it, but I couldn't be sure. All I am suddenly sure of is that I am tired. I am not even sure if last night, or rather a few hours ago, was real. I suppose my bruises are an indication that it was, but it suddenly doesn't feel like it any more. All that really feels real is that I woke up in Malfoy's arms.

Though I can't understand why his arms would be around me when I did wake up. Why would he want to hold me while I sleep? I suppose I shouldn't complain, as he was rather warm, but still, he is Malfoy. Why would a Malfoy want to hold a Weasley? And why is the thought not disgusting me as it should?

With a sigh I lay back on my right side and curled up, resting my head on my arm. For some reason the bruise doesn't hurt when I lay like this. I would try to figure out why, but I don't care enough at the moment to do so. I could also move up half a foot and put my head on a pillow, but I don't feel like doing that either for some reason. I suddenly don't feel like moving, but I don't feel like sleeping either. I don't even feel like blinking my eyes.

How could all of this have happened? Why would anyone want to be in my flat, to come at me with intentions of- well, doing that? Why would they want to? There is nothing about me that they could want, is there? Or was there something more to it? Why would they phone first? Turn off the power? Hide for so long? And why did they wait until my puppy and bestest friend were all absent? How would they know that part? Was it just luck, or have they been watching me? And if they have been watching me, then why? Why would they team up to do something so grotesque? And why is my analysis of all this not freaking me out as badly as it was a few minutes ago? Why why why?

I wonder if I will ever find the answers to any of those questions. I don't even know if I want to know the answers. What would be worse, to know or not? To always question why it happened, or to always question what they were thinking? What if I never get over this? What if I can't live on my own any more? What if I have to find myself a new roommate to keep from scaring the crap out of myself at night? That would mean that I have to move again. My flat isn't big enough for my puppy, me and another person.

I want Sneazel.

My throat tightened, but I refused to let myself cry again. It was bad enough that I cried all over Malfoy of all people. I am not going to do it in his bed as well. What if he walks in on me and sees me at it again? He'll think I'm some sort of freak. But why do I care about what he thinks about me? I shouldn't.

With yet another shake of my head I closed my eyes and refused to open them. I stared intently at my eyelids, seeing colours begin to swirl about. When I was a little girl it always fascinated me to watch the colours move. Sometimes I would even stare at my light for a tiny bit just so that I could have some intense ones to follow around. It used to help me sleep; I wonder if it still will. I haven't tried in ages.

Suddenly something occurred to me that made my eyes pop open, despite my intentions of keeping them closed: I made out with Malfoy. And I enjoyed it. Bloody hell, how could that have just slipped my mind?

My god. How could he have _kissed_ me? Why would he? What made him do it? Did he want to? Oh Merlin, what if he did? What would it mean if Malfoy _wanted_ to kiss me? And what does it mean when I certainly wouldn't resist another attempt? Does it make me one of his easy whores? Does it make me insane for wanting something I shouldn't want? For wanting someone I hate?

Not that I want him. No, that is a lie. I know that I would have done nothing to stop him if he had kept going until he was spent on top of me. And the way my body ached to feel his, the way my hands twitched to get a hold of him. There is no way I can deny that I wanted it, wanted him. I didn't even think about not wanting to be kissed by him, I just began to kiss him right back.

But how can that be? I can't stand him. And he is so wrong for me. Even if he can be rather sweet at times. And he has taken care of me on more than one occasion. And Sneazel does really like him.

Gah! How can all of this be going through my head now of all times? Why am I not thinking about what happened to me at home? How could a make out session with Malfoy suddenly invade my mind so completely? It was just a bout of lust, not a marriage proposal. And why is the thought of that suddenly very appealing? I couldn't stand to live with him, let alone marry him! And why is it even in my head? How can I be considering this? Malfoy! He's bloody Malfoy! The git who tormented me in school, who ogles my ass, who always has a snarky comment to throw at me, who throws sticks for my dog and walks me home in the fog. Who took care of me when I was hung-over and let me cry all over him when I was scared shitless.

Bloody hell, how could he have been doing all of that without my realizing it? Why did he have to do all of that? It is making it so much harder not to want him. Not to think that he is suddenly ok. Why does he have to make it so bloody hard?

I heard the doorknob click and a moment later it began to open. I slammed my eyes shut and pretended to be asleep. I didn't want to look at him, though whether it was out of fear of what I would see or what I would do is beyond me. I have a feeling it would be the latter though.

I listened as he walked barefoot across the floor, with barely a sound. His jeans made noise as he moved, but I couldn't hear his feet. Why does he always walk so silently? Well, right now would be because he thinks I am asleep, but even when I am awake he is silent. Why am I just realizing this now? And why does it matter to me all of a sudden?

The bed shifted as he got onto it. Then it dipped again as he moved across it. I could hear his breath coming out a bit heavier than usual, but I wouldn't let myself to look to find out why. The breathing got closer, until I could feel it fanning out over my face. I could feel the warmth of his body beside mine, and it took all of my willpower to not open my eyes and stare back up at him.

I nearly yelped in surprise though as his hand suddenly rested over top of mine, his overlong fingers wiggling until they were entwined with mine. Then I felt him press his body into my back again, his arm, which had startled me so, coming down to rest across me, holding me close. Then I felt my hair shift and I could feel his fingers entwining themselves into it.

I didn't want to move. I tried so hard not to. But I couldn't help but let myself relax back against him. Couldn't help but accept the warmth of his body, the comfort of his hand entwined with mine. Couldn't help but smile, because suddenly the fact that he was a Malfoy, had been my enemy back in school, could be the hugest git, didn't quite matter in that moment.

o-o-o

"What do you mean you can't tell me any more, Potter?" I demanded, glaring up at him from the fireplace. "There is a bloody dead man in Weasley's flat, and you can't tell me anymore!"

"Look, you of all people should know that floo isn't necessarily secure," he said, staring down at me through tired eyes. He was pacing across the small office he had locked himself into to take my floo. There was a lot of noise coming from the other side of the closed door in the room. The fact that I could actually hear it from here told me something is going on. Well, how couldn't there be with a dead man in the Minister's daughter's flat? "I can't say any more until you bring her here." He shook his head and turned about. "How's she holding up anyways?"

"She's ok," I replied stiffly, my mind suddenly flashing with an image of her lying under me. I mentally shook my head. Now is not the time. "I put a soothing charm over her though. It seems that as long as she isn't thinking about what happened she's fine."

"Typical Ginny," Potter muttered, shaking his head. A particularly loud noise came from the other side of the door, and Potter looked over at it as though he expected it to be banged down.

What the bloody hell is going on? Why has Potter holed himself up in here? What is happening on the other side of the door? Why the bloody hell is there a dead man in Weasley's flat? And why would he want to go after her of all people? Well, I suppose her father is an obvious answer, but why would they go through her to get to him? Why not him directly? How cowardly do you have to be to go after a person's daughter to get what you want? And what the hell do they want anyways?

"Look," he said distractedly, running his hands through his already messy hair. "Just don't say anything to her about it until we know more. Just bring her here and we'll take it from there."

"Fine," I said, nodding my head stiffly. "She's still asleep, so I will bring her to you when she is awake." I glanced about the little room. "Figure out what the hell he was doing in there Potter," I nearly growled, surprising myself. I pulled my head back before he could reply. He couldn't have said anything different from what I think he would have said.

Why is this bothering me so much? Why do I care that Weasley was attacked in her home? That the attack seems to have more to it than simply hate attacks against Weasleys? She is just Weasley after all. But oh, that's right. She had to go and worm herself into my brain, so I couldn't forget her, and then she has to come to me for help and cry on my shoulder and ask to sleep in my bed. And of course I just have to wake up to find myself snuggled up against her, and of course I couldn't have moved to save my life.

I thought she would kill me when she realized what I was doing. That she wouldn't stand to being held by the likes of me. By someone she hates. But she didn't say a word about it until I had to open my idiotic mouth. And then of course I had to close it over hers.

Why the bloody hell did I kiss her? And why did I have to keep going? Why couldn't I have just stopped it at the kiss? Why did I have to keep going past the point of just a kiss to an all out make out? How could I have? She comes to me for help and then I go and betray her trust by going at her like a sex craved fiend? She had one thing right: I was taking advantage of the situation. Though you have to give me some credit, I did say we should stop, but neither of us seemed too keen on the idea. But so she didn't resist me, but when she wakes up, when reality really starts to sink into her brain, she's going to hate me for it. She's going to hate me more than she already does.

And the worst part about all of this is that I wouldn't go back and stop myself. If anything, the selfish part of me is wanting to do it all over again, to keep going and take her; keep her all to myself. How could she have changed me so much? Made me want her so much more? Even just holding her...

With a hiss I kicked my couch in frustration, then swore as the pain belatedly shot up my foot. Bloody hell. Why don't I just throw myself out the window and save myself the agony of this situation? But then if I do that Weasley is going to have to go to the Aurors alone, to face the news alone. And for some reason I don't want her to go through with that.

What the hell is wrong with me? This is just Weasley. I shouldn't be so concerned about her. She doesn't want me to be so concerned about her, so why am I? Why did the realization that that man hurt her make me see red? Make me want to kill him for hurting her? Why did finding out he was already dead make my blood run cold at the thought of her being framed for it? Why do I care!

With another hiss I walked towards the bedroom, only to stop at the door. What am I going to say to her? What am I going to tell her? I can't tell her that that bastard is dead. She would freak, regardless of what I might hope would happen. She's not the type of person to take death lightly, or so it seems. How would she act if she found out someone died in her flat? I shudder at the thought of it.

I sighed and slowly turned the knob, leaning against the door to push it open slowly and quietly. I glanced into the room, only to find her lying on the bed, asleep. I pushed the door the rest of the way open, stepped in, then closed it behind me, not taking my eyes off of her.

She had neglected to pull the blanket over herself, or to even move her head onto a pillow, instead cradling her head on her arm. Without the blanket all I could see where the curves of her hips sticking up into the air, crying out to be held and stroked. Her breasts pressed together in a way that made it difficult not to stare at her. Even her naked feet, which were resting side by side at the end of her curled ever long legs, looked like they needed to be stroked. And just staring at her I longed to do all of that and more. To try it again.

Swallowing thickly I shook my head. She doesn't need this right now, and I shouldn't want this from her right now. Or ever for that matter. But I do. I should be thinking about all those bruises, her torn housecoat, but they aren't hindering what I want from her.

What is it about her that isn't letting me look away? What is it that won't let me get her out of my mind? It's not like there is anything spectacular about her. Sure she has a great body, but she's insane. How can I imagine myself with someone as crazy as her? Probably because I am no longer as sane as I once was.

Or was I ever all that sane? I wanted her the moment I saw her, though I didn't know who she was at the time. But that was just lust. And so is this, isn't it? But would lust make me think about other things than just her body? Like her wellbeing and what is happening to her or how safe she is? Would lust make me want to be around her, even when I can't stand her? Would lust make me want to put her life before my own? I don't think it would.

So what is this then? What is it that makes me want to go towards her, even though in every fibre of my being I know it is wrong? Why is it that I don't care about anything but being with her when all rational thought screams not to go near her, that she is the enemy? Why is it that I am getting onto this bed again, when what I should be doing is owling my managers and telling them I won't be into work today? And why do I not hesitate to take time off work when I feel that she needs me?

It took me a moment to realize that I was leaning over her, looking down on her pale face, the heat of her body radiating towards me, beckoning me. She looks so different like this, so unWeasley like. Yes, her freckles are still standing stark against her pale skin, and her hair is as red as ever, but her Weasley attitude isn't here – yet she doesn't look like her demurred version either. All she looks like is a woman that has been thoroughly kissed, with her lips looking red and bruised as they are.

I had the sudden urge to kiss her again, to run my hands over her soft skin. To feel the curves and contours of her body, to make her moan and whimper at my touch. She really is addictive, and being this close to her is making it difficult not to think about all of that. But I am staying where I am. What will it get me to kiss her again? Isn't it bad enough that I kissed her once? Once is far too many, especially where she is concerned. I know I am going to be craving it now, I already am, and there is no reason to feed the addiction. And besides, perhaps this time when she wakes up she will deck me as she properly should. As she should have the first time.

I couldn't help but move my hand though, to place it on top of her warm one, and move my fingers so that they were entwined with hers. I couldn't' help but lay down behind her again, to spoon my body against hers, to pull her closer towards me, despite the fact that it might wake her. It's selfish of me, very selfish, but at the moment I can't help but be selfish. She didn't resist the first time, maybe she won't do it this time either. Regardless of what happens though, it feels nice to hold her when she feels so warm and soft, even if it doesn't go any further than this. Maybe that will keep my desires at bay, if only for a little while.

I must have dozed off after that, for the next thing I knew there was sunlight pouring into my room, spilling across the bed and catching in Weasley's hair, making the gold come out of it again. I couldn't help but stare at it, entwined in my fingers, my eyes travelling from wave to wave. Maybe having some light in here is a good thing after all, if this is what I get to wake up to.

But this isn't what I get to wake up to. This is never going to happen again, I just know it. And I don't even want to try and figure out exactly why I am so disappointed by that thought. Well probably because I am never going to be able to have sex again because she will always be on my mind. And yes, I realize that there is more to it than that, but as I said, I don't want to know why.

A thump outside the door made me snap my head towards it, my arms tightening around the red head without even realizing I was doing until it had happened. I slowly sat up, glaring at the door and waiting for either my mother or Blaise to open it. I am not sure who I would prefer for it to be, because either way they are never going to let me forget it.

There was a soft knock on the door and I tensed, dreading to see either of them. A moment later the door opened slowly, and I was greeted by the sight of Blaise's blue eyes peering at me from under his ridiculous mop of hair. I watched as they shifted from me to Weasley, to other places around the room, then settled on Weasley again where they widened.

"Well I'll be," he said from the half open door, keeping his voice low but not low enough.

I scowled at him, shaking my head and glancing down on Weasley, who was still sleeping. He stared at her again, then looked at me, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing more. He motioned with his hands to come out and talk to him, and after I nodded he closed the door again, leaving Weasley and I alone once more.

Just great. As if it wasn't bad enough when I was trying to forget Weasley, now that he has seen me lying in bed with her, he is never going to let up. For the rest of my life he will be trying to convince me to talk to her, to see her, to be with her, regardless of the fact that it won't work out.

With an irritated sigh I pulled myself away from her, my body feeling cold as I moved to the other side of the bed, trying hard not to wake her. I went to my chair and pulled a shirt from it then tugged it on. I ran a hand through my hair and moved towards the door, but paused with my hand on the doorknob and stared at her.

I didn't want to leave the room. I didn't want to leave her. Which is ridiculous, because that is all I am going to do in the end. I am just going to end up walking away, whether it is by her hand, mine, or the world's, because it will never work out. Ever. The fact that she is a Weasley and I am a Malfoy will always stand between us. Among other things.

Regardless of this fact though, I find myself moving towards her again, not sure of what I was going to do until I was pulling the duvet up over her body to her chin. This is the second time I have done this, and I have yet to figure out why. I never really did it for The Cheating Bitch, and we were engaged. Why am I doing so many things for Weasley that I never even considered doing for my fiancé? It doesn't make any sense to me.

I turned and left the room, heading towards my kitchen, only to find Blaise making a pot of coffee. He was dressed in a suit and tie, and, after a quick look around, I spotted his briefcase against the wall. I shook my head and pulled a chair out at the table and sat down. He turned and looked at me, a stupid ass grin on his face. I scowled at him.

"So are you here for a reason or are you just being annoying?" I asked before he could say something snarky, like I know he will. He saw me lying beside Weasley, he is never going to let me live it down.

"Well, I have a late court today," he told me, leaving the coffee maker and walking over to where I keep my mugs. "So I decided to stop in and see if what the paper said was true." He shot a grin at me. "And for once they seem to be right. Sort of."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, frowning at him. He waved his hand towards the table, where a copy of today's _Daily Prophet_ was sitting. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my glasses and slipped them on, then pulled the paper towards me. On the front page was a picture of Weasley, under the headline: Man Found Dead in Minister's Daughter's Flat. I turned my frown down on the article bellow. So Potter wouldn't tell me anything, but he'll tell the press?

Yet as I read the article I found that the press knew even less than I did, as they didn't specify how Weasley got away, or even that she defended herself. All they really got right was that the man was dead and that she came to me for help and that Potter is on the case. They didn't bother hiding the fact that they thought Weasley was involved in the death, but they didn't come straight out and say it either. The last thing they need is more bad press over publishing faulty information, especially about the same woman as before.

"So did Potter tell you anything about it?" Blaise asked me, sitting down across from me and sliding a full cup of coffee towards me. "I am assuming you are the one who told him about the break-in."

I nodded absently, still looking down on the article, though not reading it anymore. "He claimed the floo wasn't secure, so I am assuming that he is going to say more when I bring Weasley to him," I said, tearing my eyes away from the article and looking at my friend. "There's something going on here Blaise, and I don't like it."

"No, I imagine you wouldn't," he replied, the grin still on his face. Then it dropped away and he looked seriously at me from over his coffee mug. "Does she know he's dead?"

"No," I replied, shaking my head. "And Potter wants it to stay that way until he finds out more about it."

Blaise nodded his head, then took a sip of his coffee. I did the same. "Luna sent me over here with a change of clothes for Ginny. She didn't think that she would be able to get back to her flat for a while, and would appreciate not having to walk around in her pyjamas." He grinned at me again. "Though I have a feeling you wouldn't mind in the slightest."

"Shut up," I said, but did give the matter some thought, not liking my conclusion. I don't think that it would good if she walked around like that in public, as other idiots might begin to get ideas. And I don't know why that idea bothers me. She's not mine, and she never will be, so what do I care if other people look?

I looked down on my watch, and felt my eyes widen slightly. Is it really ten o'clock? I stood up and headed towards my fireplace, intent on sending a message to my managers to explain what was going on, but Blaise's words made me stop. "I already owled them for you," he said, grinning that stupid grin of his. "I figured you might be sleeping late."

"Oh get over yourself," I snapped, moving back towards my chair. I didn't bother thanking him. The cheeky bastard knows full well that I owe him now. "What you saw wasn't what you thought you saw."

"Of course it wasn't," he assured me, the grin still in place. "There was no possessiveness in your position at all. And I didn't for one moment think that you could actually be interested in her by the way you were holding onto her."

I opened my mouth to put his mind exactly straight, but forced it closed as Weasley walked into the room. She looked about the kitchen, and I quickly flipped the paper open so she wouldn't' see the headline. Instead an article about a kneazel taking over a school glared up at me, right along side the whether report. I ignored both the horror and the sun and instead looked at Weasley.

Her hair looked as mused as ever, and my fingers twitched to burry themselves within it again. I forced them to wrap around my coffee cup, so that they wouldn't get any funny ideas. I couldn't get my eyes to behave though as they traveled downward, skimming over the lacy thing, and her ever long legs, until they came to rest at her naked feet. Maybe keeping her like this wouldn't be such a bad idea after all. I do have a wand, after all.

"Oh," she said, her eyes falling on Blaise. She tugged her torn housecoat closed and put on a smile. "I didn't realize anyone else was here." I mentally frowned at that. Why would she have left it open if she knew it was just me?

"Hi," Blaise said, rising to his feet and moving towards her, offering his hand. "I am Blaise Zabini, the unfortunate best friend of this git." He smiled that damned flirtatious smile at her, and my grip on my cup nearly became painful. "A pleasure to finally meet you."

"Hi," she replied, reaching out and accepting his hand. I watched her face, waiting for her to blush. I don't know why I expected it, or what I would do if it came, but I watched nonetheless. I didn't get to find out what I would have done, as it never happened. Interesting. Usually if Blaise even glances at a woman she begins to blush.

"Let me get you a cup of coffee," he said, sending a look my way. "As it seems our host isn't inclined to do much of anything but read the paper." I offered him the finger as he held onto Weasley's hand and led her over to the table. He even went so far as to pull the chair next to me out for her. I scowled at him, then let the expression drop off of my face as Weasley turned and looked at me. There were dark smudges under her eyes.

"Why didn't you sleep longer?" I asked as Blaise placed a third mug before her. She sent him a grateful smile as he reclaimed his seat, then turned back to me and shrugged.

"I didn't feel like sleeping anymore," she replied, then sipped at the contents of the mug. She made a face but didn't comment. "When do we have to see Harry?"

"As soon as you are ready to go," I told her, moving my hand as Blaise slid the paper across the table towards him. "Apparently Blaise has a change of clothes for you."

Weasley frowned at that and we both turned to look at the curly haired man sitting across from us. He was scowling at me, his hands frozen from where they were dragging the paper towards his person. I frowned back, then something occurred to me, what if Weasley doesn't know about him and Luna either?

"Why would you have my clothes?" she asked, her voice sounding suspicious. "Were you at my flat or something?"

"No," he said, shooting me one last look that guaranteed that I was going to pay. "But Luna had a few of your things kicking about her flat."

Weasley looked at him blankly for a moment, then her face broke into an expression of understanding. "You're the secret boyfriend," she said, not sounding as surprised as I had. Does Lovegood never tell her who she is dating or something? Is discovering boyfriends a common occurrence or something? Or is she still that out of it that nothing is really real for her? "Well, I can see why she would fall for you."

"Yes well," Blaise said, clearing his throat and glancing down on his watch. "Just don't tell her that I told you." He sent a glare at me. "Tell her Malfoy ruined the secret if you have to say anything."

"I am sure she would love to hear that," she said, a smirk spreading across her lips. It seemed erotically out of place on her lips. "Thanks, for the clothes I mean."

He shrugged and stood up, rolling the paper and taking it with him. "No problem," he said as he moved towards his briefcase and slipped the paper discreetly into it. I almost said something, since it was my paper that he was taking, but caught myself. The last thing I need is for her to discover what happened via the paper. "I have to get going though," he glanced at his watch again. "Some of us here have to be at work." He was looking directly at me as he said this.

"And some of us have more important things to take care of," I told him, mentally halting afterwards. That did not just come out of my mouth, did it? Blaise's triumphant smirk informed me that it had.

"I left the clothes on the couch," he said to Weasley, gesturing towards my sitting room. "Hope this git doesn't give you too many problems." She snorted at that, but didn't say anything more than goodbye as Blaise left the room.

"Seeya around, Malfoy," he called, then disappeared around the corner, leaving the two of us sitting at the table, side by side, alone.

I listened as Blaise flooed away to his work, then silence rang. I listened to it for a minute, which probably wasn't the smartest thing for I began to hear breathing, her breathing. It was soft, and almost not there, but it made my heart race for some reason.

I took a sip of coffee from my mug and glanced at her, trying to focus on the taste of the liquid in my mouth rather than the shape of her lips. I mean really, it wasn't like we got all that far, why can't I get it out of my head? Only because the taste of her is addictive, and far better than any coffee will ever taste. Bloody hell. I watched as she took a sip of her own coffee, her red lips curling after she took it away. I frowned.

"What? Is my coffee not good enough for you?" I asked before I could stop myself. Sometimes I wonder how I haven't managed to get myself killed with the way my mouth works.

"No, it's fine," she replied, placing the mug down on the table with a soft thunk. "I just don't like coffee all that much."

"Oh," was all I found I could say to that. I stared down on my mug again as we slipped into silence.

It wasn't the type of comfortable silence where you don't feel the need to fill it. It was the type where you know there is something that needs to be said, but no one wants to say it. The question is though, what needs to be said? Do I need to bring up the fact that she came to me for help? That she cried on my shoulder? That she slept in my bed? That she kissed me back?

But so what? So she kissed me back. It doesn't mean anything, does it? I don't even know why I kissed her. I know she hates me, and I should be trying to forget her, but just the sight of those full lips drew me towards them, her anger flowing out of her, and before I knew it I was kissing her. And it was even better than in my dreams, because it was real. It was real and she was so much softer than I had expected, made far better noises than I thought she would.

I mentally shook my head. I shouldn't be thinking any of this. I shouldn't have kissed her either. She came to me for help and now I am just taking advantage of her weakness, just as she said. She was attacked in her own home and here I am trying to figure out how it will benefit me. Though as to how wanting her like this will ever benefit me, since I will never have her, makes me wonder.

I sighed. And still I feel I need to say something. So I opened my mouth to do just that – though I had no idea just what I would say – but she beat me to it.

"It was just stress, wasn't it?" she asked, her eyes focused on her mug. "That's all it was. We don't actually like each other, do we?"

I frowned at her, taking in the way her hair fell about her shoulders, begging to be touched. It was glinting in the sun again, the gold strands glimmering enticingly. Her eyelashes, devoid of makeup, also seemed to shimmer in their pale way. I never noticed how odd they look without her makeup on. My eyes drifted to her own, and I couldn't help but notice the tremor that went through my heart at the lost look in her eyes.

"I don't know," I finally said, looking away from her and to my own mug. "I honestly don't know, Weasley."

"We don't even address each other by our first names," she said, her voice going softer. I glanced back over at her, to find her dipping her head, her hair blocking my view of her face. "Except when you are freaking out."

"I do not freak out," I informed her, ignoring the memory of the mix of emotions I had felt when she had yelped in pain. "And would you like me to address you by your first name?"

She paused, then shook her head, causing her hair to glimmer even more. "No," she replied, glancing over at me, with her head still tipped down, so her hair framed her eyes. She grinned at me then. "It would sound too weird. And besides, I don't think I could handle calling you Draco."

"I don't think I could handle it either," I agreed, ignoring the part of me that thrilled at the way my name came out of her lips.

"So where does that leave us?" she asked, coming to the question that I have slowly been getting towards in my head.

"Mortal enemies that can get along?" I asked, shaking my head at how stupid it sounded. I am not her enemy. Our families are just enemies. Why has it taken me that long to figure it out?

"Sounds about right," she nodded, still grinning. "We have just agreed on the last few ideas." She paused. "It's funny, my brother always claimed that the world would end the moment a Weasley and a Malfoy got along."

"Well, your brother's a git," I said simply, then instantly regretted it. What a way to keep this odd relationship: insult her family. Though, she did insult my own last night. Let's just say this is payback.

"He can be," she agreed, and I had to struggle to not let my eyes widen and show the surprise I am feeling. She moved her chair back and stood up, ignorant of what I was feeling. "I am going to get ready. We should go talk to Harry." And with that she made her way out of the room, leaving me to once again sit alone.

What is happening here? If I would have said that a few weeks go she would have hexed me. Why is it different now? Why are we getting along? How can we be getting along? And why is my brain accelerating this scenario to the point where we begin to get along more and more? It won't happen, will it? It couldn't, could it? Do I want that? Why is it that I feel that I do?

With a violent shake of my head, I got up as well, depositing our mugs into the sink. Then I turned and headed towards my bedroom, where I gathered my clothes – ignoring the sounds of the shower turning on in my bathroom – and went into the guest bedroom to get ready myself.

She didn't take as long as I thought she would to come back out into the kitchen. I had just begun to scrounge for food when I heard her walk in. I glanced over at her, only to do a double take. She was dressed in something even more terrible than the lacy thing: a light peach sundress that hugged her in all the right places. And I do mean all. Damn that Lovegood woman. Even the lacy thing is preferable to _that_.

"You wouldn't have an extra cloak or something would you?" she asked, tugging at the top of the dress, – which sat distractingly low – scowling down on it. "Luna can only fit in my dresses, though as to why she would give me this one of all the ones of mine that she has horded away is beyond me."

I stared at the dress for a moment longer, then turned away, mentally scowling. If Blaise is any indication, then I think I can begin to fathom why, and I don't like the answer. Bloody hell.

"I should," I told her, relieved at the idea of being able to cover the horrid thing with something. Though as to whether I am relieved at the thought of not having to see her wear it or preventing others from seeing it, is beyond me. "What would you like to eat?"

"Nothing," she replied, causing me to look at her again, with a frown this time. I tried to keep my eyes on her face, and I almost managed it. "I'm not hungry."

"You have to eat something," I said, my frown deepening.

She stared at me for a moment, her face falling blank, then understanding seemed to dawn on her. "It's nothing like that," she assured me, shaking her head. "I can't eat unless I feel awake." She shook her head again. "And four hours of sleep can't make me feel rested enough to be awake for a while yet. I'll eat something after we see Harry."

I stared at her for a moment longer, then nodded. Even if it is a bullshit answer, I will make sure she eats something once everything is said and done. I stopped at that. Who am I to make sure that she does anything? She's not mine to do so with, and she certainly doesn't need me to make her do anything. She is a grown woman, just as I told her non-boyfriend on her behalf, she doesn't need anyone to watch out for her like that. Or does she?

"Let's get this over with then," she said, nodding her head. She once again turned and left the kitchen, and this time I followed her. She moved towards the sitting room, the dress allowing me an excellent view as her hips moved about in the dress. I tired not to think about the bruise that is marring them.

I turned and went into the hallway, stopping in front of the wardrobe. I pulled the door open and pushed the contents around, trying to find something that would at least sort of fit her. I know I have a shorter jacket, from when they were back in style, but I can never find anything in this thing when I need it. As I was shoving items around my eyes fell on something that shouldn't be here.

I pulled out the dark green cloak and stared at it, trying not to feel the mix of emotions that came with it. How could it still be here? I thought I got rid of all of her stuff. It must have escaped my purge somehow. I looked at it critically, realizing for the first time that The Cheating Bitch had been a few inches shorter than Weasley. The cloak is certainly short enough that she wouldn't be tripping on the hem, or anything else of that kind.

I almost put it over my arm and brought it to her, but the thought of her touching anything that that bitch had worn, let alone wearing it herself, made me shudder. What if she gets whatever it was that made that woman go bad? What if she begins to get ideas? But that's just ridiculous. I am not even dating her and I am already getting worried about her cheating on me. What kind of idiot am I?

I pushed a bunch of cloaks out of the way and shoved the green thing as far back as I could. I'll fish it out again later and dispose of it properly. I don't need yet another thing to remind me of her and her betrayal.

It took me a minute or so more to find the navy blue jacket that I had had in mind. I closed the doors and brought it to Weasley, holding it out for her so she could put it on. She stared at it for a moment then slid into it, pulling her hair free from the collar. She looked down on herself and raised her eyebrows.

"I look like some sort of flasher," she said, pulling the coat closed. She was swimming in it, her legs sticking out at the bottom like some sort of odd bird, ending in a set of runners that looked vaguely familiar. She shook her head then pulled out her wand. A few waves later and the jacket fit her better, though not perfectly. Apparently tailoring charms are not her forte.

"Now you just look like your legs are going to get cold," I told her, still staring at them. She shrugged with indifference and moved towards the mantle, where my jar of floo powder sat.

"I'll survive," she replied, pulling some out of the jar. She threw it into the fireplace, causing green flames to burst into life. "Ministry of Defense," she said, and stepped into the flames.

I stood there and watched them dwindle before I reached for my own handful of powder. What have I gotten myself into? What am I doing following her there? Potter can handle this, can't he? But I am beginning to realize that there is going to be no easy way out where Weasley is concerned, save death. And for some reason the thought of an early death isn't quite as appealing as it seemed a little while ago.

Without giving myself a chance to think any more I threw the powder into the fireplace, and followed after her.

o-o-o

**Works Cited:**

o- "And just when they had begun to heal up I had tripped over a treeroot and skinned them all over again.." – I did this when I was a kid. I am seriously not surprised that I have knee troubles the way I used to go at it. Lol.

o-"There was no possessiveness in your position at all." – Well this entire scene was inspired by a sketch I randomly did. You can see it here: www. deviantart. com/ view/ 19411431/ Though I have no idea what I am going to do with it yet...

o-o-o

A/N: And that is that. I had hoped to tack on another part, but I think I will just put it on the beginning of the next chapter, or not at all. So yes, what did you think? Crap? So did I. Bah. Hopefully the next chapter doesn't fight me like this one did, otherwise I just might go insane. Not that I still own my sanity, but still. I go now.

Many thanks to: **aurora borealis1(**Bad me? Ah, so true. Lol)**, Embellished**(I don't know, could they...?)**, Dustbunnie**(Yah, I'm not too fond of my basement either, regardless of the fact that I live down here...)**, Calla-ForEvEa**(:D)**, Toes of a Tickled Kind**(Hmm, I think I could get her a shovel some how, the poor girl... As for your question, you will just have to wait and see)**, sunflowerchild, FemmeDraconis**(Yes, very weird. And why would you think it would be Draco?)**, LuvablyWicked**(From one of my fav movies, if you are still wondering check my bio)**, 101aether101, Padfoot in Purple**(Wow, no one's ever told me I could publish one of my fics before. Gives me a bit of hope for my future plots. :p As for the title, it will be explained, eventually... Glad you like my story so much)**, 6th year gryffindor**(...oh dear :p)**, Laiannon-fae-elf**(Well, as long as I am not alone in that boat :)**, rockon2680, tulzdavampslaya**(Well, that was what I was aiming for... That story's finished? Locked in the bedroom! Gah! Your mind's in the gutter again! Actually, it's my favourite blue paint. It looks awesome with white added to it. My big blue painting is that colour. Best shop ever. But I like glaring... Especially when I can see you stalking me. Now shoo!)**, starr88**(Why do you hope that?)**, GoldenFawkes**(Yup, I was assured by my actual stalker saying that she would have seen you if you really were... lol)**, singin'intherain251**(Which song is that one?)**, bridgetmalfoy**(I was almost going to tell you to look at my bio about that "action" business, but that would have been a bit hypocritical of me now, wouldn't it:p)**, Ashen**(Where's my chocolate? I _love _chocolate... Lol)**, 6th year gryffindor**(Ahh! Zombie!)**, Logan's Lover(**I don't know if I ever told you this, but you were the first person to ever fav me. Thanks for that. :)**, Dragon(**Ever read 'Serpent's Bride' by Reiko? It's really lengthy and not very predictable at all. And much better than this story)**, Averill(**I'm glad)**, LauraWilson**(Many times actually. Where can you buy wands? I want one too) and **Looney-Lovegood**(I never realized that CD was so popular. It's freaking everyone out!)

**Thanks so much guys. Your responses blew me away. Have a very happy time reading actual canon this weekend! I'll see you all again once you're done:p  
**


	10. Disease

Title: Painting an Oyster

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one legged lesbian seagull hotmail com (Please add 3 underscores, one "at" sign, and a period)

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to get this out. But after HBP, working, packing, and life in general, I haven't really had the time to write much. Blah. But it's here now, in all its horrid glory. As far as the new book goes, I am going to continue this story as though it hasn't happened. I am sure that little tidbits might wander in but other than that I am going to declare this story AU. Though I do have a new story that I am plotting based after HBP, which will hopefully be my last HP story ever. But then, I said that about We All Fall Down and that was 20 stories ago. Blah again. How about I just let you read, eh?

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing at all. Though apparently there is a whole bunch more shit in my room than I ever thought possible...

**Painting an Oyster**

**Chapter 10**

**Disease**

o-o-o

Soundtrack: "Disease" by Matchbox Twenty

o-o-o

I stepped out of the fireplace, and instantly began to brush the soot off of my clothes, looking around as I did so. The room seems busy, with wizards and witches of all walks of life bustling about. They all look a little frantic too, and I can't help but wonder if this is because of what happened to Weasley. An attack on the Minister's daughter is a big deal, is it not?

My eyes continued to move around, until they fell on a sight that made my lip curl: Potter with his arms around the aforementioned red head.

It could have been an innocent hug, one between a brother and sister, the way Weasley was holding onto him, but it was Potter that ruined that image. He has his nose buried in Weasley's hair, that over red and soft hair, as though he owns it. Which he does not. And the git seems to be enjoying himself too.

I looked at Weasley again; does she even realize what he's doing? Or is she still that out of it? Or does she not mind? What if her and Potter have some sort of thing? I know that they dated back in school for a while there, what if it never went away? And why is this bothering me so much? She's not mine. She can date who she likes, can't she? Why is my mind telling me no?

"Hello, Potter," I said icily, stepping forward in the hopes of being noticed. Neither of them had seen me, considering Weasley was facing away from the fireplace and Potter was taking advantage of Weasley's need for a hug. I wanted to smack his head into a wall. Though that wouldn't be a very sound idea, what with all theses Aurors around, would it?

"Oh," the messy haired fiend said, finally pulling away from Weasley. "Hello Malfoy." He tugged at his robes a little, and I felt my lips twist more. "I take it you had no problems getting her here then."

I glanced at the "her" in question, only to see her take a healthy step away from The Boy Who lived to Save the World Twice. She looked over at me and sent a tired smile, which sent something ricocheting about my stomach. I tried to ignore it, instead focusing on The Git Who Won't Die. "None."

"Good," he replied, then turned back to Weasley, who had taken another step away, so that we were all standing in a triangle of sorts. "Gin, I need to ask you a few questions, about last night."

"I know," she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked from Potter to me, but didn't smile this time.

"Alright," he said to her, then turned his green eyes on me. "Thank you for bringing her here, Malfoy, but I can handle it from here."

I stared at him, momentarily forgetting to curl my lip. So that's how it goes, does it? I am a convenient place to stay, but when it comes down to the rest of the ordeal I get shunted away? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by that. It's not like he was ever very inclusive even when I was on his side. It was always him and his little gang of three, and no one else mattered. I think that was another thing that always pissed me off about this git, how poorly he could treat anyone and everyone, simply because they weren't savvy with his little schemes. Well fine, it's good to see that some things never change.

"No," Weasley's voice sliced through my mental tirade against Potter, causing us both to look at her. She was frowning at Potter, which made him frown back in confusion. "I got him involved in this, and he is going to stay with me through the rest of it." She paused and glanced at me. "That is, if he wants to stay."

Do I? Do I really want to give up yet another chance to be rid of her? If I walk away right now Potter can take over and take care of her. He could be the one to make sure that she's alright and put up with her insanity. He could be the one that could hold onto her and bury his fingers in her hair. He could be the one to make sure that she actually eats something today. And why is it that I get the feeling that he would fail to do half of those things, and forget about the others? And why is the thought that I should be the one to do all of it in my head? Why can't I just walk away?

I looked over at her, to see her watching me, a blank look on her face. It's almost as if she is stealing herself for disappointment. Do I want to be the one to disappoint her? Do I want to be the one to cause her to get hurt? Hasn't she been through enough already? Haven't I for that matter? So why is this so bloody difficult? Oh right, because she is a Weasley and I am a Malfoy, and she is insane and I am not. Though that last bit I still think is on very shaky ground.

Without thinking about what I was doing, I nodded my head once, watching as the tension in Weasley's shoulders – which I hadn't noticed before – slipped away. So she was expecting me to leave? Why does that hurt? But then she had expected me to not want her in my flat either. Why doesn't she trust me? It's not like I haven't given her reason to.

I glanced over at Potter to see him glaring at me. It was only for a moment, before he went back to smile, but it was enough. Potter never could hide his emotions very well, and at the moment he's mad at me. Big surprise, but it's his own damned fault for not seeing what was in front of him when he had the chance. The question is, have I seen it? Or do I want to?

"Fine," he said, nodding to Weasley. "If that's what you want." He glanced around. "Let's take this into one of the conference rooms." He glanced about again. "Then we won't have to worry about wandering ears."

I looked about the room as I followed Potter and Weasley across it. Are they still worried about corruption now? There was quite a big deal about it when He Who Must Not Be Named was finally defeated, along with his minions. There were cries that the entire system was corrupt, loaded up with spies. The unfortunate part was that it actually was. But I thought they had solved all of that. Obviously they haven't.

Potter stopped in front of a door near the end of the room, where he took out his wand and tapped the knob. It glowed red for a moment then the door creaked open, revealing a black chasm. He pushed it the rest of the way open and set the candles alight with a flick of his wand, forcing the darkness back, then held the door for Weasley and I.

The room was small, crammed with a couch, table and a handful of chairs. Weasley walked in and headed towards the couch without hesitancy. Potter closed the door behind me, and moved towards the couch as well. For some reason the thought of him sitting beside her, while I stood off to the side bothered me, so I took the seat beside her before he could. Ha. His face flashed with irritation before he settled himself down on one of the chairs across from us.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his eyes fell on Weasley and his face crumpled into a frown. "You have bruises on your knees," he said, his eyes focused on her knees.

I leant forward and looked myself. The coat, which I had given her, rode up when she had sat down, exposing the bruises to plain sight once more. I felt my jaw tighten but didn't say anything.

Weasley tugged at the hem of the coat, trying to cover them once more. "And I have another one on my hip," she said softly, still trying to cover the ones on her knees. She seemed to realize how futile it was though, for after a moment she stopped trying and let her hands settle in her lap.

Potter looked at her knees for a moment longer, before raising his eyes to sit where Weasley's hip was hidden behind the awkwardly fitting jacket. I was suddenly very thankful that I had given her one of mine and not The Cheating Bitch's. "Can I see it?" he asked.

"It's a bruise Potter," I snapped, an image of him pulling up Weasley's dress flashing through my mind. I didn't realize that I was clenching my hands. "It's no different from the ones on her knees." It's just in a place that I hope you never ever see.

Weasley glanced at me, her expression unreadable, before she turned back to Potter, whose cheeks had begun to turn red. "Harry, I'll show you when I get some decent clothes on," she said placidly.

The messy haired man glared at me, his eyes calculating, accusing – as though I had been the one to put the bruise there myself. But then, I suppose if I, of all people, got to see the bruise and he didn't, it would piss him off, seeing as he is supposed to be the hero or whatnot. Gah, listen to me, going on as though seeing that bloody thing is some sort of prize. What's wrong with me? "Alright," he said to her, not taking his eyes off of me.

I could tell by the way that he was glaring that he was jealous. I couldn't help but feel a tinge of triumph at that, seeing as it was always the other way around back in school. Finally I am the one who has something that he doesn't, even if it means that I have to have Weasley to make it happen. And for some reason that idea isn't as troubling as it should be. I smirked back at him, but drew the line at taking her hand in mine. There would be time for that later.

"So what is it that you need to know," Weasley asked, disrupting our stare down and causing the both of us to turn and look at her. She had a determined look on her face, which also seemed to hold a bit of irritation.

"Well, what exactly happened," Potter said, his face taking on a professional edge. He smiled at her slightly though, disrupting the attempt. Git. "Anything that could be useful in getting to the bottom of all of this."

"Alright," she said with a nod, then proceeded to tell him what had happened.

It was a more detailed account than what she had told me, though I realize that she hadn't really told me much of anything about last night. Not that I blame her, but still. Potter remained silent the entire time, just watching her as she told us what had happened, pausing every now and then as though she was afraid to go on.

"And so I went to Malfoy's," she concluded, her eyes focused down on her hands. My own hand twitched with urge to hold one of hers. I kept them still though. I don't know how she would react if I did that. So yes, I did kiss her, it doesn't necessarily mean she wants me touching her now.

"And you've never seen him before," he asked her, looking at her intently. "You're sure?"

"Well, he had a mask on his face," she replied, frowning at him. "So I don't even know what he looks like. All I know is that he was huge, and strong. I don't think I have encountered anyone like that recently." She paused. "Did you catch him?"

I glanced at Potter to see him stiffen slightly. "In a manner of speaking, yes," he said slowly, watching Weasley carefully before glancing at me.

She stared at him for a moment then her eyes flashed towards me before frowning. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"He's dead Gin," the bespectacled git told her, right out of the blue. Even I was surprised by the bluntness of it. I watched Weasley. She sat there a moment before her eyes began to widen. Then she began to look worried. I hated him more in this moment for telling her like this than I have ever hated him before. "He was like that when I got there, tied up as you left him." She opened her mouth, looking even more worried, her hand rising in the air. "It had nothing to do with you, Gin," he hasted to add, seeming to realize just how royally he was fucking this up. "He had a fake tooth with poison in it, and he must have cracked it open when he realized he was going to be caught."

Weasley stared at him for a moment, her expression frozen, then, just when I thought she was going to start crying again, her face crumpled into a frown once more. "Who was he?" she demanded of Potter, her hand, which had still been raised in the air, waving about as she spoke. "Why was he in my flat?" She paused. "Did any of the other flats lose power when mine did, or was it just mine? How did he get past all of my security wards?"

"It was just yours," Potter said softly, as though he was trying to sooth her with the information. I took one glance at her and knew there was little chance that it would do that. Why the bloody hell did he have to go and tell her like this? As if the ordeal wasn't enough as it is, he has to go and add to it by saying, "oh by the way, that man who tried to rape you, well he's lying dead in your flat now". The hate I felt for him a few moments ago seems to be increasing. Exponentially. "And we don't know who he is or why he was there. Nor do we know how he got in. All we know is that he did."

"You don't know!" she exploded, her hair flashing as she turned to look at me, before snapping her head back to Potter. "How could you of all people not know? You must have some sort of hunch, don't you? You always have one suspect or another. What aren't you telling me?"

I looked at Potter, expecting to see him getting angry, but all I found was a slightly guilty and trapped expression on his face. So he did know. But why won't he tell her? Why lie to her about who it was? What is the harm in letting her know? And who is it anyways? And why would they target her? Why try to scare her to death? Why make her more troubled than she already is, god dammit.

"Because I don't know," he said, now beginning to look angry, despite the fact that he is lying through his teeth. "And I can't tell you what I don't know, no matter how much I want to." He glared at me for a moment then turned his attention back to her. "We have his body, and we are running his prints and wand as I speak. We should know more by tonight."

He stood from his chair and moved towards the door. "We've combed your flat and replaced your wards, so you can go back home when ever you want. We're also giving you a security detail until we know more, so tell Kinglsey when you leave; he's got the first shift." He reached for the knob but stopped. "Oh, and I didn't tell your parents you were here, so they will most likely be camping out at your place until you get there." Then he grabbed the doorknob and turned it, pulling the door open. "I need to talk to Tonks." And with that he was gone.

I stared at the closed door. "What the hell was that about?" I demanded of no one in particular. How could he just go and get himself in a huff like that because Weasley demanded to know what was going on? If he knows her as well as the rumours say, he should know damned well that she has a temper. And withholding anything from her obviously is a stupid thing to do, even I can figure that out.

"He hasn't been sleeping very well," Weasley said, her voice sounding deflated.

I turned and looked at her, only to find her slouched on the couch beside me, her hand lying limply beside her. The expression on her face was identical to the one that she wore when I had left her in the fog, lost and forlorn, worried that something was coming to get her. Before I knew what I was doing I had her hand securely in mine.

She looked down on our hands, as though she wasn't quite sure what was happening. She was silent for a moment. "You don't have to do that," she said finally, still looking at our hands. "I'm going to be alright."

"I know," I told her, but I didn't let go.

We sat in silence for a while, and neither of us moved. How on earth did I get to be here, with a Weasley, holding her hand? How is it that one day we are having nothing to do with each other and the next we are both sitting here, in the Department of Defence, both knowing that we are being told half truths? Why did she even want me to stay here? Why did she make sure I was included in this? I can't comprehend it any more than I can comprehend the fact that she came to me for help. Why didn't she just come here, to Potter? I just don't get it.

"I think I'd like to go home now," Weasley said, cutting through the silence. I looked at her to find her looking even more tired than before.

"Alright," I said nodding, standing up and pulling her hand to help her stand up as well. "Do you want me to come with you?"

She stared at me for a moment, then shook her head. "I think I have to do this on my own," she said, her lips hardening slightly, as though she didn't like the thought of it.

I nodded again, though I felt like doing anything but nodding. Well, what did I expect? For her to declare that she wanted me to stay with her? To never leave her alone? Of course not. I am just here for support, but now that she has Potter and this Kingsley fellow to take care of her, she doesn't need me, now does she? I know it's stupid and childish to think like this, but I can't help it.

She led me to the door, and pulled it open. People were still bustling about outside, and none of them noticed us leaving the room. Weasley stopped and looked about, then looked at me. I watched her, but didn't say anything. I didn't trust myself to say anything that wouldn't offend her.

"Malfoy, thank you," she said, looking up at me through her chocolate brown eyes. Eyes that I fell I could fall into if I gave myself half a chance. "I don't know- well, just- thanks."

"That's the second time you've thanked me this month, Weasley," I drawled before I could stop myself. "It must be some sort of record."

"And your saying stupid stuff like that is probably why I never let it happen before," she replied, though there was a smile tugging ever so slightly at her lips. "I'll see you around, Malfoy."

I nodded for a third time, and watched as she headed off across the room. Something occurred to me as I watched her hips move and before I could think to stop myself I had called out her name. She paused and turned around, looking at me with curiosity. "Don't forget to eat something," I told her. She stared at me for a moment, then smiled and nodded, before resuming her course.

_Don't forget to eat something!_ Who the bloody hell says that? How could I have said that? It sounded completely out of character for me. What has she done to me? I seriously think that that sentence alone marks my final dip into insanity. Now all I need to do is go, club her over the head, and drag her back to my flat and make sweet Neanderthal love to her. Then I can at least find out what other sorts of noises she makes.

And the more I think about that, the more I realize that I want to find out. I know I had toyed with the idea that morning in her flat, but when I was kissing her I heard some of them with my own ears. Now that I have had the chance to think about them, I can't help but wonder. What will she will she sound like when I assault other parts of her body with my lips? What noises will she make when I enter her? What will she do when she climaxes?

Not that I have had the opportunity to find out, let alone had the opportunity to even see her. I haven't seen her since she walked away Friday morning. And sure, it is only Monday afternoon, but I usually see her sooner than this, don't I? And why is the fact that I haven't seen her bothering me so? I didn't see her for a whole week, with the exception of my dreams, and it didn't bother me this much. And this time it's only been a few days. And I am seriously trying to ignore the little voice in my head that is telling me that distance makes the heart grow fonder. Fonder for what is what I would like to know. How could I grow fonder of Weasley? Why do I want to? And why am I?

With a violent shake of my head I tried to focus on the paperwork that has piled up over the weekend. It's last week's paperwork really, but since I didn't come in on Friday, and ignored it on Saturday, I have to do it today. What a wonderful way to start a week. Though I can't complain, because it is my own fault. Doesn't make the bloody job any more entertaining though. And when things are dull it is far too easy for my mind to wander.

I glanced about my desk, which was covered in paper, only for my eyes to fall on today's issue of the _Daily Prophet_. Once again, headlines about the attack on Weasley were glaring up at me, or rather, it was a picture of me glaring up at me. The paper had been having an absolute field day with what had happened, declaring all sorts of bogus things, from it being me who attacked her – so that I could get her into my bed – to it being a conspiracy to topple the government. Though as to how anyone could hope to accomplish that by going after Weasley is beyond me.

Today's article was about how Weasley had come to me for help, and once again they are claiming that there is more to our relationship than we want everyone else to know. Well, if there is more going on I would certainly like to know about it as well, so that I can react appropriately. I definitely haven't seen hair or naked foot of her in the past couple days, so how on earth could I be having some steamy relationship, that's all about the carnal pleasures, without her. If that was true I wouldn't let her out of my bed, let alone my sight, for a minute. I did not just think that.

I tried to focus on my work once more, but again my mind began to wander. Potter had flooed me yesterday and had me come in once more to ask me a few questions. They had seemed irrelevant to me, but to him they seemed to mean the difference between life and death, so I humoured him, if only for Weasley's sake. You can't honestly think I was doing it for him, can you? I did, however, find out a bit more about what had happened that night. For some reason he was a lot more forthcoming this time round.

Whoever it was that had attacked Weasley had not been working alone. Apparently he, along with whoever else he was working with, somehow bypassed the security wards, and he hid in her wardrobe until she came home. His accomplices were the ones who cut the power to her flat, and were also the ones who phoned her. But that is as far as the Aurors have been able figure out, as there wasn't any way to trace them back through either the phone or the power. Whoever did this was smart enough to cover their tracks.

That fact alone worries me. Whoever these people are are professionals. They seem to know what they are doing, and they can stump the Aurors. Well, considering that Potter is the head of this investigation, it shouldn't be that hard, but still. Why would professionals come after Weasley? What could they possibly want with her? She's just an artist. Well, I suppose the obvious answer would be to get to her father, but then why only her, why not her brothers as well. Most of them have wives and children who would be equally, if not more vulnerable, targets. So why Weasley? It just doesn't make sense to me. But then, a lot hasn't been making sense to me lately, has it?

"Achoo!" I sneezed, jarring myself away from my thoughts and back to the present. I frowned and sneezed again. That's odd. This room is charmed, like my flat, to keep dust out. This charm can't be going on the blink as well, could it? Why is it that all the charms are going haywire? First that beam, then the shop, then Weasley's flat. What's next? All the charms that keep the Muggles away mysteriously disappear? I shudder at the thought. "Achoo! Achoo!"

"Bloody hell," I muttered, my nose already getting stuffy. I reached for my box of tissues and pulled out a few. I was just bringing them to my nose when I glanced out the window across from me. My hand froze and I did a double take.

All I could see on the other side of the glass was cloudy air, filled with dust. I can't even see the ceiling, let alone the workshop. Where the hell did it all come from? Tipping my glasses down, I took another look. Nope, still there. Shit.

Shoving my chair back I got to my feet, only to be stopped by another set of sneezes. I looked around my room quickly, only to find dust pouring in through the air vent. I stared at it for a moment, then sneezed yet again. And again.

Sniffling, I used the tissues in my hand, then grabbed the box itself and headed towards the door, unsure of what was really going on. The ventilation system has been working perfectly for years, so why would it all of a sudden go bad like this? And where is all this dist coming from? We just had the thing cleaned when we moved in here last year. This much dust could not have developed in such a short period of time.

I pulled the door to my office open, only to be assaulted by a fresh wave of dust. It was as thick out here as it was beyond my window. And just my luck that it has to back up like this when I am still in the bloody building.

"Fuck," I swore, before a fit of sneezes plagued me.

Once they subsided, all that was in my mind was that I had to get out, and that I had to get everyone of my employees out. So I moved down the stairs, clutching at the railing with my free hand, trying to ignore my running nose and watery eyes. I don't think I have had an attack this bad since I got myself locked in the attic as a kid. But now is not the time to go into that tale of stupidity.

I was about halfway down the stairs when another bout of sneezing hit me. "Achoo! Achoo!" My eyes are running so badly, that it is hard to see properly. Though if it is the dust or my teary eyes that are obscuring my vision I don't know. All I do know is that I can't see much of anything. I took off my glasses but it didn't help any. To add to it, my nose is also so plugged that I can only breathe through my mouth, which does lessen my sneezing, since the dust isn't going into my nose as much, but it is making my lungs burn. "Achoo! Achoo!"

"Mister Malfoy?" someone called from the foot of the stairs. "Mister Malfoy is that you?"

"Achoo!" I replied. A moment later my head draftsman came into view a few steps below me. She was looking up at me worriedly. "Achoo!"

"Oh dear," she said, grasping my arm and leading me down the stairs. "Everyone's waiting outside and the medics are on their way. We don't know how you didn't hear the alarm up there." I would have frowned at her if I didn't start sneezing in that moment. I didn't hear any alarm, and I still don't hear it. "Though I suppose I can't hear it from here either." She led me around the corner, where the screech of the evacuation alarm greeted our ears. "Oh, there it is," she said simply. "Are you alright?"

I opened my mouth to tell her that no, I am not alright, but all I could manage was yet another sneeze. So I just glared at her through eyes that were feeling horribly swollen and red.

"I'll take that as a no then," she said, rounding yet another corner and taking me with her. A breeze blasted me in the face, and I nearly whooped with joy as I felt fresh air against my skin. A moment later we were outside, and I was taking in deep breaths of air in between more sneezes. At least now more dust isn't going in though my lungs are still burning. "Oh good, their are here already," my draftsman said, and I felt her let go of my arm as someone else took it and led me over to a chair that hadn't been there when I came to work this morning.

"Well, you look a little under the weather," whoever it was who had taken me said cheerfully, and I glared at them through swollen eyes. Somehow I was getting the feeling that my Monday was only going to get worse from here on in.

o-o-o

You know, the last few days have been a complete gong show. Seriously. I mean, not only does someone break into my flat and almost rape me, but the same said man ends up dead in my flat. And if that isn't enough to deal with already, no one is telling me any more than they think I need to know. So in other words they are saying nothing at all.

I thought that they were over this Ginny is too young and innocent phase. I haven't been innocent since Riddle, and I can't understand why they insist that I still am. I don't know what is more frustrating, knowing that they know and won't tell me, or knowing that they think I am not mature enough to handle the truth. And I know Harry knows the truth. He always knows the truth, whether he only has an inkling or not.

That was one of the things that always bothered me about that man. He always felt that he needed to protect me from the world, to shelter me from everything evil. It's impossible to do so, as I always told him, but he never listened. Which is probably why I broke up with him before I went to art school. I mean, he couldn't have protected me from Grimmauld place while I'm on the other side of the country, and he wasn't coming with me. I certainly wasn't about to stay there for the rest of my life either; though I am sure he wouldn't have minded in the slightest if I had.

It seems that their not sharing information with Ginny also spreads to the media as well. If I had hoped to find out what the skinny was through them I am sorely disappointed. All that they have been able to churn out are more fables about my wonderfully secret relationship with Malfoy. Well, it must be really secret if I don't even know about the damn thing. I mean really now. You would think that there is nothing else happening on this damned planet the way they moon over our supposed relationship. It makes me wonder what will happen when we do start going out. Not that we ever will.

Zach seems to believe the papers though, as he was gloating about it when he flooed me that night. I couldn't help but snap at him when he started being snarky about it all, claiming that he knew all along that Malfoy and I should be together. The bloody git didn't so much as say "hi, how are you doing?" before he went into his spiel over why we should be together. Did the fact that I was nearly assaulted even filter into his little brain?

I know it is horrible of me to be saying all of this, especially about my bestest friend, but I can't help it. He hadn't tried to contact me in over a week, and when he finally does it's not to see how I am doing in my time of need, but to say "I told you so". Not that he was even right, seeing as Malfoy and I aren't going out. Gah. Sometimes I really hate gay guys. They can be so understanding and sensitive one moment, then totally flip about and be even more selfish and self-absorbed than a child. Sometimes I really think that they can be the worst of both sexes mingled into one horrible entity.

Ok, now I am just ranting, but really, how can I not? Especially when, after his gloating time was over, Zach got mad at me for not flooing him right away to tell him what had happened. Well, I couldn't have flooed him from Malfoy's, as I never would have had the chance. And I didn't even have time to think about taking my shoes off, let alone flooing my bestest friend, as when I opened the door to my flat my mother had flung herself onto me, crying when she saw that I was still in one piece. This, of course, didn't matter to Zach as he claimed I should have told him anyways. But I am going to stop talking about Zach, lest I break something in my anger. Let's change the topic to my family, shall we?

My mother, of course, blew the whole thing out of proportion, declaring that I needed to move back home to The Burrow, just in case he came back. The fact that the man is dead didn't seem to matter to her, as long as I was safely living at home. My father, who had stood back through the entire ordeal, luckily called my mother on her loony idea, and declared that there was no way that the man could come back, as he was dead as could be. My mother, seeming to realize the error of her thoughts, instead changed tactics and decided that I needed to be fed.

Ron was in the kitchen, and as soon as he saw me he began to harp at me for going to Malfoy for help instead of him. He ranted and raved to the point where even my parents were looking convinced by his ludicrous points. I mean, I may have just come to realize that he has changed a lot from his days back in Hogwarts, but even before I realized it I could have told anyone that what my brother was saying was a load of crap. I mean, Malfoy told me himself that he would not eat me, so why should I believe my brother, the man who is the president of the official Anti-Malfoy Club, that he will?

It's funny though, isn't it? I am always ranting and raving about how much I hate Malfoy, but as soon as I hear someone else insulting him I get angry. And I did. I don't think Ron expected me to have defended Malfoy of all people, if the expression on his face was any indication.

And really, Malfoy isn't all that bad. He's helped me out on more occasions than he should have, and he's never done anything to hurt me. Well, not really anyways. And he's a really good kisser, if that means anything. Though I didn't tell my parents any of that part of my overnight stay. I don't think their hearts could take it if they ever found out Malfoy and I had been going at it like a couple of teenagers. It's hard enough convincing them that the papers are just making up stories, and it's not helping with me running off to him for help.

I still don't understand why I went to him for help though. I mean, we weren't talking, and I hated him with all my might up until that moment. Yet I still ran to him as though he would make everything better. It would have made more sense to run to Harry, or to my parents, but even thinking about it now, I don't think I would. Harry would just try to take advantage of the situation and try to rekindle our old flame, while my parents, well, would be all parent-like and drive me batty. But still, Malfoy?

I suppose that I can't complain now though. He took me in, even though he was mad at me, he called Harry for me, and he put up with me when he shouldn't have had to. And he kissed me. And bloody hell, I want him to kiss me again.

It's wrong, isn't it? To want to kiss someone I can't stand? To want nothing more than to feel his body against mine, to feel that wonderful heat of his? But I do, and I can't seem to care if it is wrong or not; and I can't seem to stop thinking about him. If I thought he had been in there before, it was nothing compared to now. Every time I stop doing something he wanders his way into my head, looking all tall and, well, I hate to say it, but edible. How can I even think that? But I am. And the saddest bit is that a part of me would give anything in the world to be in his bed again, with him on top of me. How wrong is that? Very, I know.

Needless to say, I have been working very hard to distract myself from anything in my head. If it's not Malfoy invading my thoughts, then it is dark shadows moving quickly across my mind's eye, coming to get me. I don't let myself think about how there could be someone in my wardrobe, and I only look into it when I go into my room and close the door behind me. I don't let myself look around when it begins to get dark and the shadows begin to stretch across the room. Nor do I let myself lie in bed and think of all the things I would rather be doing in Malfoy's instead.

I have done a lot of painting in my attempt to keep myself from thinking of all of that. I have actually managed to finish the painting of Lady Malfoy, after how ever many weeks of putting it off. I just have to wait for her to dry – well, the surface of it anyways. Some oil paintings take hundreds of years to dry all the way through. I have also done a few other paintings that are really screwed up and creepy, which just sort of oozed their way out of me. Not that I am complaining about that, I would rather them be on canvas than stuck in my head.

But you know, I think that the only reason I am not having a complete break down about all of this is because of Sneazel. It can't be my mother, who floos me daily to make sure that I am still alright; it can't be my father either, who does pretty much the same thing. Nor my brothers, who all keep owling me and dropping in when I really don't want them about – especially Ron. And it certainly isn't Harry, who seems to think that when he is on his shift to "protect" me that he can just waltz right in and hang all over me. I can honestly say that out of all of them only my puppy has kept me from going over the edge.

I think he knows that something happened when he wasn't here, because he's been sticking closer to me than usual. He isn't even hanging out in his igloo, which means he is giving up his favourite pastime to make sure that I am still in one piece. It's quite sweet really. He keeps his head in my lap when I'm sitting, or sleeps on my feet, regardless if I get him covered in paint or not, and he keeps giving me reassuring licks as though to say he's going to make everything better again. He somehow even managed to figure out that I no longer trust my wardrobe – which I don't – because he has taken to sleeping right in front of it instead of in his basket. I honestly don't know what I would do without him. Probably get really fat for having no excuse to leave my flat.

I've been walking him a lot lately too, much to the annoyance of my guards. Sometimes I feel that I should just try and run away from them. Who ever it was that attacked me is dead; he's not going to come and get me anymore. I realize that. Though the fact that they still feel I need to be protected from something is a little troubling...

"Isn't that right, Ginny?" Luna's voice asked, drifting into my head and distracting me from all that has been happening lately. I turned and looked at her, only to find both her and Blaise looking at me expectantly.

I must say that I was a little surprised when the two of them actually started acting like a couple around me. Luna doesn't usually introduce me to her boyfriends, let alone let me hang out with them. You might think it is rather reclusive and not very best friend like, but it's just the way Luna is, and I have learnt to deal with it. This Blaise fellow must really be something if they have both invited me over for tea after only a month of dating. Though I must admit that from the little bit of time that I have been around him I have noticed that he can be quite the charmer. I stared at them from across the table, feeling my cheeks heat up.

"Uhh..." I said unintelligently, trying desperately to figure out what they had been talking about before I tuned them out. Chicken pox, wasn't it? I don't think that's what they are talking about any more. "Come again?"

"I said," she said slowly, still smiling a misty smile. "That you wouldn't mind going at all, would you?"

"Going where?" How much of this conversation did I miss? And since when do I tune out other people's conversations like this? Not only is it rude, but it's just not like me.

"To Draco's place," she replied, glancing at Blaise, who was now looking at me with a slight frown.

I blinked. "Why?" I asked, feeling very stupid. But seriously, why would I want to go there of all places. The ideas that keep wandering into my head would never leave if I was _there_. Just think, surrounded by his ferrety smell, his possessions, his bed sheets. Gah. And _this_ is why I should not be going there. Aren't I supposed to detest him? What ever happened to the hate? I want my hate back. Why did I ever go there? We were hating each other perfectly up until then.

"Because he's sick," she said simply, taking up her iced tea and taking a sip. I watched her. I have always thought that if Luna was ever stuck on a deserted island, she would be perfectly happy to stay there as long as she had enough iced tea to last her.

Wait. "Sick?" I asked. When did he get sick, and why has no one told me about it? And why do I suddenly care if he is sick or not? Maybe it's terminal and I will be rid of him once and for all. And why does that wonderful thought not give me the joy it once did? Bloody hell, what's wrong with me? "How did he get sick?"

They were both frowning at me now. Even Luna, who is usually so patient, was frowning. Obviously this sick business is not new news, though as to how I could have missed it is beyond me. I have been talking to them pretty consistently since Thursday night. Did I really tune out that much of what they were saying? What's going on with me? So I got attacked and ran to Malfoy, doesn't mean that I have to disassociate myself from life, does it?

"From all the dust," Luna continued. When I continued to stare at her and Blaise blankly she continued, "Remember, yesterday, it was in the paper." Ah, and that would be why I don't remember. I threw down my last paper on Sunday, when the headline was some bullshit about Malfoy and I being secretly engaged. You know, I would really like to know if I am before the rest of the world finds out. Makes me wonder how many other stories they publish are bogus. Just because it's in print doesn't make it true. "The ventilation in his shop backed up and forced everyone out. He inhaled too much dust or something and now he's sick. And his shop is under quarantine until the Ministry can figure out what went wrong."

I stared at her. Didn't his shop get broken into last week? And now the ventilation is suddenly backing up? He's either got really bad luck this month, or something else is going on. Though how a break in and the ventilation going nuts are related is beyond me. And how could a bit of dust make him sick? Couldn't the medi-wizards make him better? Why would I have to go visit him when they can make him better? Why couldn't they do something so that I wouldn't have to put myself in the position of realizing that I no longer hate him?

"So what does this all have to do with me?" I asked, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. I am getting a very bad feeling about this whole thing, like butterflies are trying to burst their way out of my stomach. They can't really expect me to go there, can they? Not with all these very wrong ideas running through my mind at the mere thought of him.

"Luna made you some of her chicken noodle soup to bring to him," Blaise said, looking at me from under that cute mop of hair on his head. "He will appreciate it, even if he is too cranky to tell you so."

"Cranky?" I asked, leaping on the word. Perhaps his being cranky will be my way to weasel out of this. Bloody hell, the thought of having to see him is making me act just like he always says I do, acting like a weasel to get out of something. Why is what he says even occurring to me? Why do I care? "I don't want to deal with him if he's cranky. He's hard enough to deal with when he's not cranky."

"Well, cranky Draco isn't much different from the usual Draco," his self-proclaimed best friend told me. "He's just a bit more snippish." He flashed a grin at me, which told me exactly why Luna fell so hard for him. "Nothing you can't handle, I'm sure."

I frowned at them both. "Why are you guys pushing me to see him?" I asked suspiciously. And really, it does sound fishy. They know that we don't get along, and that neither of us really likes each other – or at least, that is what they should still be thinking since we haven't given them any real evidence to the contrary – so why try and make me go over there? It doesn't make sense. "It's not like he would want visitors when he's sick. I never do."

"Lies," Luna declared, taking yet another sip of her iced tea. "You love it when people come and bring you food when you're sick. Especially when it's something yummy like chocolate."

"But I'm not bringing him chocolate," I pointed out. And yes, I do realize that that was a pathetic attempt at getting out of this.

"No, you are bringing him soup," she said, beginning to frown now as well. "And you can have some too, if you go."

"You can't tempt me with food," I told her, frowning. "That only works on you." Though even as I said it I knew it was a lie. Luna's chicken noodle soup is to die for. Literally. And she only ever makes it on certain occasions. Like Malfoy being sick apparently. Bloody hell, I am not going to give in for the temptation of soup.

I turned on Blaise. "And why can't you just go, seeing as you are his best friend and all?"

"I have to be in court in," he glanced down on his watch, "twenty minutes. So I can only Apparate you over there so that you can give him the soup."

"If you leave right now you will have plenty time to give him the soup and get to work on time," I said, ignoring the fact that I am whining. Bloody hell, what _is_ wrong with me? Oh, that's right; they want me to go to the one place I know that I should never go again. Who wouldn't try and stay away if you were me?

"Ginny, just go," Luna said firmly, nearly rolling her eyes at me. "It's not like he hasn't done the same for you, as we have reviewed. You owe him."

I glared at her. She just had to put it that way, didn't she? Well, it's not like he ever intended to help me out on those times that he did. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He never heard that I was hung over and came running over to be of assistance. He didn't hear that I was alone in the fog and in need of an escort. He didn't know there was someone in my flat and came running. No, he was just there and then acted accordingly. It's entirely different from me hearing about him being ill, and then going to him soup in hand. Isn't it?

And why am I crumbling about this? I shouldn't care that he's sick. I really shouldn't. But for some reason I do. For some reason a part of me – a bigger part than I am willing to admit – feels that I should go. Not to jump his bones, or to feel his body against mine, but simply to make sure that he's alright. But why? To act like a good little girlfriend and make him feel better? We're not even dating! This is getting ridiculous! Why is it that all of a sudden my life is becoming so damned mixed up? Why can't it just be simple like it was before? Why couldn't I have appreciated the simpleness of it when I had had the chance? And why the bloody hell am I taking this damned soup into my hand and letting Blaise take my other hand?

With a crack we appeared in Malfoy's sitting room. I glanced around, noticing more than I did the last time I was in here. The colour scheme of this place seems so odd for a Malfoy, with its olive walls, cherry wood, and ochre coloured patterned cloth. I was expecting green and black, but obviously I was mistaken. Suddenly I realized myself and I turned and glared at Blaise. He just smirked down on me. "Don't look at me like that, Red," he said, taking a step away from me. "You'll thank me when this is all done with."

I felt my mouth fall open, but before I could even utter a squeak of surprise, he had Disapparated away once more. I glared at the spot on the rug that he had just been standing on. Bloody hell, they _are_ trying to set us up, aren't they? How could Luna do this to me? First Zach and now her as well? Who's next? Sneazel? Harry? My mother! How can this be happening? And why the _hell_ am I not flooing back to my flat as soon as I can? Why am I walking out of this room, soup still in my hand, towards the kitchen? Why am I not leaving before he figures out that I was ever here?

I entered the kitchen and looked around. It was empty and looked immaculately clean, especially for some one who is sick. When I get sick my entire flat becomes a sty, with dishes I can't be bothered to clean scattered everywhere. What if he really isn't sick? What if he's in on this as well and it's all just some ploy to get me back into his bed? How can that get into my head? Luna would never go along with something like that, would she?

I put the carton of soup down on the counter and took a deep calming breath. No, that could not be what is going on. The git is probably lying in bed right now, moaning about how he is going to die. Isn't that what he would do back in Hogwarts whenever he ended up in the infirmary? I should leave. Do I really want to put up with that? I don't have the patience for that, do I? No, I don't. So I will just give him the soup, then go. They only said I had to give him the soup, they never said that I had to stay or do anything else. And the sooner I can get away from this place the better. His smell is everywhere.

So with my head held high I headed back out into the hall, and made my way towards his bedroom. The door was closed and I stopped before it, my hand hovering so that I could knock at any moment. What am I doing here? Am I really that insane that I would subject myself to a situation that can only end badly? I think I must be. If I was sane I would have run away by now, and moved to Canada. With the penguins. Yes, I do believe that penguins are preferable to this torture.

Shaking my head in self disgust I rapped lightly on the door. Best to just get this over with as quickly as I can, then I can go home and try to forget that it ever happened. Forget that I ever met him again. That I ever began to not hate him as I properly should. That I ran to him for help. That I am beginning to crave his company.

There was no response to my knocking, so, stealing myself, I slowly turned the knob and pushed the door open a bit. I poked my head in and looked around the dimly lit room. The window was open, causing the curtains to blow about and cast just enough light into the darkness to let me see what was inside. Ah, it seems that he does make his living space messy.

This place is a mess; clothes scattered about the floor in the corner, as though he was too lazy to actually drop them onto the chair that he seems to usually put his clothes on. Over a dozen glasses, all in various stages of fullness, scattered about the bed side table and floor, as though he ran out of room to put them and just started standing them where ever was convenient. It was the tissues that got to me though. They were everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. The floor, the bed, flowing out of the garbage can. They even seemed to have gotten across the room to the wardrobe.

I quickly shifted my eyes away from it, instead focusing on the concentrated scent of him that suddenly assaulted my nostrils. It seemed to wrap around me, like his arms, heating my senses. Ok, perhaps not the most intelligent thing to have done.

I turned my attention to the bed, trying to spot Malfoy, but all I could see was a large lump in the blanket. I couldn't see his head, or any other appendage, but there was certainly a large lump, so he must be the cause of it. The idea of him not breathing under there sent a thrill through my body. Why would I be worried about that all of a sudden?

I pulled the door open further, causing light from the hallway to spread across the used-tissue infested room. The lump in the bed still didn't move, so I entered the room as quietly as I could. He must be asleep or something, so perhaps I can just leave the soup by his bed and cast a warming charm over it for when he wakes up. Then he doesn't need to know that I was here, and we can both continue to be happy. Well, as happy as we can both be with Friday morning resting between us.

I crept into the room, deftly dodging tissues and glasses, until I was standing beside the bed. I still could see no sign of life within it, so before I realized what I was doing, I dipped my head down and looked at where the edge of the blanket rested against the mattress. I nearly jumped when a set of red puffy eyes stared back at me, blinking when I came into view.

"Malfoy?" I asked, staring at the eyes. Bloody hell, so he isn't asleep after all. Damn him. "Are you under there?"

"Weasley?" he croaked, his voice sounding congested. "What are you doing here?"

"I have been ordered to bring you soup," I told him. Well, it is the truth. I was ordered, in a fashion. "Are you cold or something?" I asked, looking at the way he was huddled under his blanket. He really hadn't been kidding when he told me that he liked his blanket. I wonder if he usually sleeps like this. Not that I want to find out. Not the sane part of me at least. Do I even have a sane part anymore? I am getting the feeling that I don't.

Malfoy didn't respond verbally, but I could see his eyes move as he nodded his head. I stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out what I should do. I could either burst out laughing and declare him a ninny, or I could act nice and helpful and close the window. Without realizing what I was doing I turned away and moved carefully towards the window, dodging used tissues and glasses alike, and carefully pulled the curtains out of the way and closed the window shut. The curtains fell limply beside my arms, and I tugged them slightly so that some light remained in the room.

I turned back around, taking in the room once more. Even though there is no more light in here than before, the angle certainly makes the room look more like a sty than before. Without giving my brain the chance to register what it was doing, my hand had pulled my wand out of my side bag and was waving about before I could stop it. A moment later the room looked neat as ever; no tissues, no glasses.

"I could have done that," Malfoy said, his voice sounding less muffled than before. I almost winced at how painfully congested it sounded.

I glanced over at him, and had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. He had pushed his head out from under his blankets, so he looked like some blond haired turtle with a big lumpy heap of blankets for a shell. He scowled at me, causing me to focus in on his face, which was paler than usual – if that is even possible. His eyes were red, causing them to look more blue than I had ever seen them before. They were glistening with moisture, and if it wasn't for their narrowed position I would have thought that he was about to cry. I let my eyes travel downwards to where his nose was equally red and abused, then further down to his lips, which seemed far redder than should be allowed in such pale skin. I stared at them for a moment, remembering the feel of them against my own.

"Just like you could have closed the window?" I asked, walking over to where his clothes were scattered about the floor and gathered them up in my arms, trying not to think about what I was doing. I ignored how they felt against my bare arms, dropping them unceremoniously onto the chair. "For some reason I get the impression that they would have been kicking around for a while then."

"Meh," he replied, and pulled his head back beneath the blanket. I stared at him. Did Malfoy just back away from an argument? Literally?

It was in that moment that I realized exactly how sick he must be. Not only is he acting like a child – something he has never, ever done in front of me. Well, save for when he is whiny and stubborn, and, well, Malfoy-like – but he is not arguing as he should. Maybe he is dying? And why does that thought make me want to stay and take care of him more than it makes me want to whoop for joy and run off to celebrate?

"Did you say you brought soup?" his voice asked, muffled by the blanket once more. Then he popped his head back out and glared at me. "I didn't know that you could cook."

"I can't," I replied, frowning at him. Well, maybe him dying wouldn't be such a tragedy after all if he is going to be acting like this all day. Not that I am going to be staying here all day. "Luna made it. And if you don't want it I will be more than happy to eat it myself."

"No, I want it," he croaked, his head disappearing under the side of the blanket again. A moment later his blond hair appeared near his pillow, then the rest of his head followed. His hair was sticking in every direction imaginable, making him look like a fair coloured Harry. I wonder what he would do if I told him that? "Oh shut up," he snapped at me.

"What?" I asked, frowning back at him. But as he continued to scowl at me I realized that I must have had some funny look on my face while I was thinking about his hair. Oops.

Without giving him the chance to croak anything further at me I walked out of the room, leaving the door open, and headed into the kitchen. It was still immaculate, save for the carton of soup sitting on the counter. I walked past it and opened the first cupboard I came across. I raised an eyebrow when it turned out to be the cupboard with bowls in it. That doesn't usually happen to me. I usually end up going through ever cupboard in the kitchen before I find what I am looking for.

I pulled out two then put them down beside the carton. Spoons were a bit trickier to find, but I managed after a few drawers. Everything inside the drawers was neat as well, as though everything has a place. For some reason this realization about Malfoy doesn't surprise me. He seems like the type who needs things where they should be, clean and organized. He would probably go nuts if I lived in here, putting things where I feel like putting them, and leaving my disordered chaos everywhere.

My brain came to a screeching halt. Did I just think about living with Malfoy? No, I couldn't have, could I? I can barely stand him, how could I think of living with him? It would never work out. But if I did live with him I am sure that we would do a whole lot more than just kiss... when we aren't fighting that is. Grah. I cannot be thinking this right now. He's sick. And I have soup. I can't be thinking about jumping his bones when he's sick, can I? I shouldn't be thinking about it at all, no matter what the situation is! But as I told you before, I can't seem to help it.

To take my mind off the horrible thoughts in my head, I poured soup into one of the bowls, but paused before I poured some into the second. If I am just going to give him the soup and leave, then why am I making a bowl for myself? I don't need to use his bowl when I can take the rest home with me and use my own. I pushed the empty bowl away with that thought then put the lid back on the soup carton. There, now just to bring this bowl to Malfoy and get out of here before anymore ideas wander their way into my head. And certainly before I begin acting on them.

I grabbed the single bowl of soup and one of the spoons, and headed back into the hall towards his bedroom. When I entered the room he had himself propped up on pillows, his blanket pulled up as high as it would go with his bare arms exposed to the air. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and I am willing to bet good money that he doesn't have anything other than boxers on under that blanket. I couldn't help but lick my lips at that thought. Merlin, what's wrong with me?

"Do you ever wear pyjamas?" I asked him, moving into the room and leaving the door open once more. Perhaps I could air out the smell of him. Not that it matters, I am not staying in here any longer than I have to.

"I am," he croaked at me, and to my horror I felt disappointment race through me as he stuck his leg out from under the pile of blanket, exposing his leg clad in black silk pyjama bottoms.

"Aren't you missing the top half?" I asked, narrowing my eyes, and trying to ignore the blush I could feel making its way into my cheeks. And now I am blushing? Since when do I blush around Malfoy? I have got to get out of here.

"No," he croaked simply, his eyes moving towards the soup. "What kind is it?"

"Chicken noodle," I said, moving forward and handing it to him.

He stared down on it, as though he was looking for a knife, or something blatantly obvious, to be sitting in it. When he found nothing other than soup, he reached for the spoon, which I was stolidly holding out for him, and dipped it into the bowl's contents. "You're sure you didn't make this?"

"Yes," I said, glaring daggers at him. Do I have it written across my forehead or something that I am a terrible cook? Even my own mother gave up on me, claiming that no matter how many times she shows me something I will never get it right. A horrible thought occurred to me: has my mother been talking to Malfoy? She did sound rather interested in meeting him, no matter how much I insisted that nothing is going on between us. What if she came and visited him and didn't say anything to me about it? Now I am just getting paranoid.

It took me a moment to realize that he had already taken his first spoonful. I watched his face, but the expression on it didn't change. He did, however, take another spoonful, then another. Well, he couldn't be that repulsed by it if he's still eating it. It must not taste like weasel filth or something.

"Well?" I asked, after he didn't respond for another few spoonfuls. "How is it?"

He simply shrugged at me yet he continued to eat it. I stared at him and rolled my eyes. Why is it that men are such babies when they are sick? And why is it that women always feel the need to put up with their shit when they do it? I can still remember my mum dotting on every single one of my brothers when they were sick, whether they were faking it or not. I had always thought it was ridiculous, and never tried to bother her when I wasn't feeling well. I'm still like that I guess, though I can't deny that I enjoy being visited.

"Alight then," I said, taking a step back. "Then I will just go and let you get your rest." I took another step backward. I am so going to get out of here. "Feel better soon."

"You're leaving?" he asked pitifully, lifting his watery eyes up from his soup and turning them on me. Dammit, it does look like he's ready to cry. And why is the fact that that look is coming from Malfoy's face not bothering me as it really should? Why is the fact that he suddenly looks even more human than usual not making me think about why? Or comparing him to he old Malfoy? Why is it just making me want to push the hair falling into those watery eyes out of his face? Bloody. Hell.

"Well," I began, trying desperately to look away from those horrid eyes of his. How the hell am I supposed to get out of here when he is looking at me like _that_! I need to leave. I can't stay here with him. I can't. It would be, what? Wrong? How could it be wrong, when he took care of me when I was hung over? Immoral? It's not like I am taking advantage of him or anything. Why am I defending the reasons to stay rather than coming up with reasons to leave? No wonder I was getting a bad feeling about coming here.

I felt my head droop before I even realized what was happening. "I'll go get my soup," I said, trying to interject as much venom into my voice as I could. I have a feeling it only sounded depressed and defeated though. Bloody hell again.

As I turned to leave the room I could have sworn I saw a glint of triumph cross across his face, but when I looked again the look was gone, replaced once again by his water eyes. I must have just imagined it, right? Just my mind trying to throw the old Malfoy back into this pitiful sick version that I can't seem to be able to leave. Yes, that must be it. Either that or I am no longer just insane but schizophrenic as well.

I went back into the kitchen and poured soup into the second bowl. I glared down on it. Bloody Luna and her bleeding soup. This is all her and Blaise's fault. And it's Malfoy's fault to, for getting sick. And my fault from not fighting this as I should have. And that bloody git who attacked me, because if it wasn't for _him_ I would still be mad at Malfoy and he would still be mad at me. We never would have started talking again if it wasn't for him. And we certainly wouldn't have kissed.

Glaring down on the soup, I grabbed my spoon and slowly moved back towards the bedroom. I don't want to go back in there. I don't. Nothing good will come of it. What will I do in there? Sit there with him? Talk to him? What would we talk about? Have we ever had a normal conversation about anything other than, well, ourselves? I don't think we have. Why is that thought more disturbing than the thought of me willingly going back into his bedroom?

I stopped mid step just out of sight of the door. How is it that I can hate someone so much, or try and convince myself that I hate him, when I know nearly nothing about him? I know he is in architecture, I now he is loyal to his mother, and I know he was a Slytherin, but beyond that, what do I really know about him? I don't even know what his favourite colour is, let alone what he likes to do. How can I be thinking of doing all sorts of smutty things with him when I don't know what type of music he listens to?

Isn't that as bad as having a one night stand? No, it's worse, because I should hate him, and I keep trying to convince myself that I do hate him, which is why I have never bothered to find out anything about him.

The more I know about him the more opportunity I would have to sympathise with him, to connect with him. The more I find out about him the more human he becomes and the harder he is to hate. How can you hate something that is as human as you are, that has similar interests? It's so much easier just to hate him when he is just Malfoy, the albino Slytherin bastard.

So why am I all of a sudden feeling bad about not trying to get to know him? Could it be because, dare I say it, he's beginning to grow on me? And what does it mean if he's growing on me? What does it say about me? Falling for someone I should hate? But wait, I never said anything about falling for him. No. Never. He's just growing on me, that's all. I am just getting used to his presence. Yes, that is all it is. And for some reason the thought doesn't bother me at all. What has happened to my life? How has it gotten this mixed up that I am willingly keeping company with a Malfoy? And not just any Malfoy, but the bouncing ferret himself?

"Weasley, did you get lost?" his voice croaked from the bedroom, which is just steps away. "I know this place is a lot bigger than your little hovel, but it really isn't that difficult to figure out."

It says that I am a complete loony, that's what it says. And with a defeated sigh I walked the last few steps to his room, closing the door behind me.

o-o-o

With a horribly croaky sigh I put my empty soup bowl down on the table beside me. To say that I am unimpressed by being sick would be an understatement. I hate being sick, not just because I feel like crap, but because when ever I eventually get better there is always so much for me to catch up on. If only the world would stop when you were sick, that when you feel up to it you can just get right back to where you left off rather than trying to run and jump back on at some point where you won't be completely swamped.

I have been getting daily updates from my managers, and if what they are saying is true I am going to have one hell of a time trying to catch up. The Aurors are still investigating my building, but they are refusing to tell anyone what is going on. Potter is still involved though, and if I was well enough I would be over there in a shot and harassing him until he tells me what the fuck is going on. I am past the point of suspecting that whatever it is has more to it than it seems; I know it. And if what I am thinking is correct then that simple break-in and the ventilation breakdown are not unrelated – though I have no proof other than the fact that the Aurors have taken an interest. Usually only the insurance companies care, but if Potter and his little gang of super special people are in on it, then something is up.

I have instructed my people to do as much work as they can at home, but I know that nothing much will actually get done. It's not a shop policy to take work home – though I often do it myself – so I doubt that most of my employees have what they need to do anything properly. I suppose they are all just happy to have an extended weekend. And I might just be feeling the same way if I wasn't sick and dreading all the work I have to do when I get better. Perhaps I should just stay sick like this forever, then I won't have to go back to work, or back to trying to keep my business afloat, or back to where there is a huge shortage of workers when I need them most. All I would have to deal with are runny sinuses, puffy eyes, achy muscles, and Weasley bringing me soup.

I thought I had been dreaming when I opened my eyes to find her looking at me. I had thought that it had been Blaise who had Apparated in here, or perhaps my mother, but certainly not Weasley. I am assuming that Blaise brought her here, seeing as she would get shoved to my front door if she tried. But this rational explanation still does not explain why, as soon as I saw her, I felt both the need to hide and to throw my arms around her.

I don't want her seeing me like this, all leaky sinuses and messy hair. I don't know why, but I don't want her to know that I am allergic to anything, or that I can get sick from anything. My weakness I suppose. And yet at the same time I want her to know, I want her to be sympathetic and understanding. But The Cheating Bitch was never any of that, and what if Weasley isn't too? But then I have gone over this, the two of them are completely different people. So why does the thought of Weasley acting similar scare the shit out of me?

Where is she anyways? I thought that she was just going to go and get her own soup? I've already finished mine and she sill isn't back yet. She didn't leave, did she? She didn't just lie to my face and beeline as soon as she got the chance? I hadn't had the ability to do so when ever I was around her, but what if she can? What if I am just going to be left lying like this until either Blaise or my mother comes to see me? And why the hell does that thought make me want to jump out of bed and search for her, even if I won't like the answers?

I know this is going to sound redundant, but what the hell is wrong with me? So she leaves, big deal. It isn't the first time that it's happened to me, and with my life, it probably won't be the last. So why does it hurt? She's just Weasley. But then, she's just Weasley who has seemed to have taken permanent residence inside my head. Who I can't seem to stop thinking about when she isn't around. Who is insane and beautiful and brought me soup.

I think my fever is getting worse. I would never say any of this if I wasn't in my right mind. Just like I never would have croaked at her to stay with me. Pitiful really, that I need someone to take care of me, but the thought of her leaving made me speak before I could stop myself. I was just suddenly gripped by the feeling that she has to be here, with me. I don't need her to take care of me, I can manage, really. Just my subconscious doesn't seem to think so. Perhaps I can disassociate myself from it. I wonder if that is possible.

I sunk back down into my blankets, resting my head against the pillows I had propped up, revelling in the softness surrounding me. I glanced back over at the soup bowl. It had been very good soup, now that I think about it – though my taste buds aren't working at peak condition, so nasty things usually end up tasting better than they actually are. But if Weasley likes it, it couldn't be all bad, could it?

I dragged my eyes across the room to the open door. Ok, she should have been here by now, shouldn't she? It has been what, five minutes? How long does it really take to get some soup? When she got it for me she didn't take this long. What if I was right and she really did leave? Why is the thought making my stomach upset? Bloody hell, she's just a Weasley. Who cares if she leaves me? Everyone leaves me eventually.

My thoughts come to a screeching halt. Now where did that thought come from? It's not true, is it? No, Blaise and my mother haven't left me, they're still by my side. And everyone else that I don't talk to any more, well, I left them. But my father left, and so did The Cheating Bitch, taking Charles with her. Not that the latter two were ever all that good to me, but- Bloody hell, I must be delusional to be thinking about this. I must be sicker than I thought.

It doesn't matter though, I suppose, I don't need the two of them to be happy. And my father was a fool and there is no way that his death was in any way my fault. If anything, I should be angry at him for his idiocy, but I'm not. So why am I even thinking about this right now? And where the hell is Weasley?

"Weasley, did you get lost?" I heard my voice croaking violently before I even realized I was speaking. "I know this place is a lot bigger than your little hovel, but it really isn't that difficult to figure out."

I closed my eyes briefly. Well, if that doesn't piss her off enough to leave, then she is certainly a few more brain cells shorter than I initially thought. Sometimes I wonder why anyone stays with me when I have this caustic shit oozing out of me all the time. I wouldn't blame her if she actually did leave.

With a sigh I pulled my blanket up to my chin and continued to look at the door. A moment later she walked in, and I felt a thrill run through me. So she didn't leave. Good.

I watched her as she closed the door behind her and made her way to the other side of my bed, a scowl on her face. She stopped and proceeded to make the bowl of soup hover as she shoved my duvet towards me, then climbed onto my bed and settled down a few feet away from me, resting back against the headboard. Her soup drifted down into her hands a second later. She shot me a glare which sent yet another thrill through me. I must really be sick if her glaring at me is doing this. But then, she does look rather attractive when she glares like that, as I realized before.

"Happy?" she asked, forcing her eyebrows up as she said it. I simply stared back. Does she always look this radiant when she is ticked off at me? Do her eyes always catch in dim light like that? Does her hair always look so soft? Her lips so red?

"No," I croaked.

I hate it when I start loosing my voice. So do a lot of other people for that matter. I remember one year, before Christmas, I inhaled a bit too much dust and my voice went like this. By the end of the day The Cheating Bitch was demanding that I stop talking since I was annoying her so much. She really wasn't the most pleasant woman, was she? Probably why I don't miss her.

"Well tough," Weasley replied, drawing my attention back to her and her radiance. And since when do I see her as radiant? I must be losing it to disease. Next I'm going to go blind or something and never recover. Well, then she will just have to stay here and take care of me. I did not just think that. "Because I want to eat my soup now."

We slipped into silence, which was only interrupted by the click of her spoon, and the odd soft slurping noises she was making. It was a definite sign of how out of it I am when I did not yell at her for making a noise that usually would have irritated the hell out of me. I hate when people slurp, even if it is a quiet slurp, but when she was doing it I felt oddly comforted, and before I knew what was happening I felt my eyes begin to droop. This is ridiculous, lulled to sleep by Weasley's slurping. I must be insane, or sick, or both. Which would be worse?

I must have dosed off, because the next time I opened my eyes Weasley was climbing back onto the bed, propping a pillow up on the headboard. She looked over at me, a faint smile on her face. All I could do was stare back at her. "I made you some tea," she said, then looked away and into her bag, which she was rummaging through on her lap.

"Tea?" I croaked. Why would she make me tea? Why wouldn't she leave after she was done her soup? And why am I really glad that she didn't?

She nodded absently, still digging about. "And I put some stuff in there to help you get your voice back." Ah, so she doesn't like my croaky voice either. But she isn't telling me to shut up. She is only trying to fix the problem. "One of my mum's old tricks."

"What did you put in there?" I asked despite myself. Probably poison. Why doesn't that thought have as much merit as it used to?

"Honey and lemon juice," she replied, finally stopping in her rummaging and pulling out a sketchbook that looked well used. A pencil and an eraser followed. I stared at them. They looked well used as well. Can this woman afford nothing new? And why do I feel the need to replace all of her old things with new things? She's not mine to buy things for.

It took me a moment to realize that she was frowning at me. "Malfoy, why is it that one of the only things in your fridge is jarred blaukraut?"

I stared at her. Is she talking about my red cabbage? My precious red cabbage that really just made matters worse between her and I? Why didn't I realize this before? If it wasn't for that bloody yummy stuff, I never would have ended up walking her home, or seen her looking about the fog as though she was petrified. I never would have gone to her for a painting, or thrown sticks for her dog, or pestered the hell out of her when I was with my mother. Why do I still have that traitorous stuff in my fridge?

"Because I like it," I said, my voice breaking once more.

Her lip curled in disgust. "Well, I guess that explains a lot about you," she said, then proceeded to flip through the book in her hands until she came to a blank page. I watched as images flipped by, too fast to really look at them, but I got the impression that most of them were people.

I glanced away from her, only to find a mug resting on my now empty bedside table – even my soup bowl was missing. Why is it that she feels the need to clean up after me? I am perfectly happy to ignore my mess. Not that I am usually like this, but when you're sick, it doesn't matter, does it?

I stared at the mug for a moment longer, then reached out – with hands that shook more than I care to admit – and took a sip. It took all my willpower not to spit the liquid out across the bed.

"Argh," I croaked, putting the mug back down on the table. "That tastes disgusting!"

She glanced at me, her lips perused in an almost cute way. "It's supposed to taste disgusting." She shook her head at me in a way that was far too patronizing. "Trust me though, it works."

"Why should I trust you?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at her before I even realized I had said it. But really, should I trust her? Has she ever given me reason to? She has never hidden her dislike for me, well, with the exception of the times where our animosity just disappears, but still. And she has never really offered me any help, with the exception of painting my mother. Why should I trust her? And why is it that I feel that all these thoughts are as unfounded as bullshit? Why do I feel as though I can trust her, a Weasley?

"You don't have to," she replied with a shrug, turning back to a drawing that had suddenly appeared on the page. An indistinct figure of a standing person was staring up at her. There were no details, just lines everywhere giving an impression of what should be where. "But don't come complaining to me when you have no voice to give people orders with when you are well enough to go back to work."

I glared at her, opening my mouth to tell her off. But really, what could I say? I have no work to return to for a while? That wouldn't sound stupid at all, now would it? So, needless to say we drifted into silence again, not that I am complaining.

I looked over at her, not bothering to lift my head from my pillows. She seems to be engrossed in whatever it is she is drawing. It no longer looks like a normal person, but is all stretched out in all the wrong places. Odd. Her hair's down again though, falling so that it's like a curtain, hiding her face. My hand twitched with the urge to push it aside, but I kept it underneath my duvet. If she didn't leave when I was being a snarky git, she will certainly leave if I start playing with her hair again. Wouldn't she? It was where all the trouble started the last time we were in this bed together.

"What is your favourite colour, Malfoy?" Weasley asked after a while. I had to pull my face out of my pillow to look at her. I hadn't even realized that I was falling asleep again. There was another figure on the page now, as unproportioned as the first. Wait, did she just ask me when is my favourite colour was? Why the hell would she want to know that?

"Why?" I asked, croaking my mental question.

She shrugged at me. "Just wondering," she replied. "My favourite colour is blue."

I stared at her. Blue. Figures. I don't mind blue, but it has never really been one of my favourite colours. I think my mother wears it too often for me to like it as my own colour. My eyes settled on her hair. This is going to sound horrible, but I like dark reds. I don't know why, but I do. And it's not a new development either, it's been building over the past few years, ever since I got away from school. I wonder if that is why I like her hair so much. Now that I think about it, it is one of the reds that I have scattered about my flat. How could I not have realized this before?

"Deep cherry red," I finally replied, causing her to look at me with a raised eyebrow.

She glanced about my room, then shrugged. "Well, I suppose that explains all the cherry wood then," she replied, her eyes lingering on one of my bed's four posters. Her hand started moving again and she turned her attention back down to it, ending the conversation.

As we slipped back into silence I couldn't help but wonder what brought about such a question. I mean, it's not a very common question. Well, I suppose it is, but more for children or well, I don't know. It's not like she has ever tried to figure out anything about me before, so why start now, and why with that question? I suppose her being a painter colour is important, but- why am I even thinking about this? She asks me a weird question and now all I can do is try to justify it? What is happening to me? I know I am sick, but this goes beyond sickness. There is something seriously wrong with me, and the worst part is that I am not sure if I am entirely against it anymore.

When I next drifted back to consciousness it wasn't because Weasley had shifted in the bed, or that she had spoken to me. It was because of a horrible feeling rising up in my stomach. Without thought I tossed my blanket off of me scrambled across the room to the bathroom. Before I knew what was happening the soup I had eaten a while ago was floating about in the toilet. I groaned at it, closing my eyes but not moving from my kneeling position before the loo. Bloody hell, I hate throwing up. I rarely do it, even when I am drunk, and if I do then I am really drunk and don't remember.

The sound of the faucet running startled, me, causing my eyes to snap open. Weasley. For some reason I wouldn't let myself look up at her. The Cheating Bitch disliked when I sneezed, but she hated it even more when I was sick. Sure, she was allowed to be sick all the time, and demanded plenty attention when she was, but if I was sick, well, it wasn't her problem. She didn't want to deal with it. For some reason I get the feeling that that sneer of hers will be on the wrong lips, taunting me. Man, I really am becoming delusional, aren't I? If Weasley was The Cheating Bitch she never would have stayed, let alone flushing the toilet and passing me a cold washcloth.

I buried my face in it, but still didn't move. I didn't feel like moving anymore. Not that I want to spend my time in the toilet, but simply because I don't feel up to moving. My head feels light and everything else feels too heavy. I was just planning on staying permanently when I felt hands gently pull the washcloth away from me. I looked up to see Weasley smiling down on me with a faint smile that I can only describe as motherly. I blinked up at her.

"Come on, let's get you back into bed," she said, and I didn't resist when she took one of my arms and pulled, forcing me to put my legs under me. I could have made a point and not moved. She can't move me if I don't want her to, but then, who really wants to spend the rest of the afternoon lying about in a bathroom?

When I was lying in bed once more, I still couldn't do anything but watch her as she pulled my blankets back up to my chin. Motherly. She would make a good mother, wouldn't she? I can just see her with a huge horde of kids, being loose and elusive, yet still raising them all right. I do not want to know where that came from. Or why all of those little kids had strawberry blonde hair. Like I would every want fifty million kids. Two is more than enough, thank you. Then they can entertain themselves and not be alone like I was, or have too many other kids to compete with like what she had. It would be just right; perfect.

I felt a cool hand press into my forehead, pushing my hair out of the way, and couldn't help but sigh as my eyes drifted closed once more.

When I next opened my eyes the room was dimmer than before. I glanced over at the window to find that night had fallen. I frowned. How long have I been asleep? I paused and thought about my body. And why do I feel so much better than the last time I was awake? I sat up slowly, still looking at the window. No, I don't feel all that ill anymore at all. Just a little weak, but nothing like before. I glanced at the bedside table to find an empty glass beside my tea. I don't remember drinking anything else. Weasley must have forced something down my throat before she left. I was just about to reach for the tea when something caught my eye on the other side of the bed.

I looked over only to feel my brain stop. Weasley was fast asleep, still lying in the place where she had shoved the blankets away, but closer to me than before. Her eyelashes were resting against her cheek, looking so much more healthy and alive than last time, when she had had no make-up on. Interesting what a difference it can make. And interesting how she hasn't left yet.

I frowned then. Why wouldn't she leave? I was all but dead to the world when last I closed my eyes, so why would she still be here, asleep beside me? And why is it that a part of me doesn't want her to leave, while another part of me knows she should? Why should she leave though? If she wants to stay why shouldn't she? Because she is a Weasley perhaps, but I am beginning to realize that we have gone far beyond the limitations of family names, haven't we?

With a shake of my head I pulled the drawer of my bedside table open and took out my book. There is no point in waking her. She'll just get cranky, like she was when she woke up on her floor that one morning. Best to just let her wakeup on her own, then deal with her. With that in mind I put my glasses on and flipped to where I had left off and began reading, feeling more than up to finishing the book.

I was nearing the climax when I heard someone Apparate into the living room. I froze, then glanced down on Weasley. What will my mother say if she sees her lying here? It's bad enough that she got that shock with the paper, but to provide her with undeniable evidence that something is going on? It could kill her. Yet as I heard footsteps moving towards my bedroom, I found I couldn't do anything about it, I just stared at the door and waited for it to open. I didn't have to wait long, and began to sigh in relief when I realized that it wasn't my mother, but stopped myself as I realized exactly who it was.

"Oh, you're awake," Blaise said softly, pushing the door open and walking into the room. "I was wondering-" he stopped as his eyes fell on Weasley. "She's still here?"

"Apparently," I said, turning my eyes down on her once more. She looks so peaceful lying there, as if she doesn't have a care in the world.

"I don't know how you do it, Malfoy," Blaise said, drawing my attention back to him only to see him shaking his head. "You must have some sort of freakish luck if you being you can still keep this woman here."

I looked back at Weasley again, frowning. It really is amazing that she keeps coming back. I don't think I would if I was her. But then, she has given me plenty of reasons not to go near her again, and look at me, sitting in bed beside her. What is it about her that I just can't seem to shake out of my mind? Why is it that I am always drawn towards her? What is it that makes me want to be with her, in more ways than one? I have a feeling that the answers will seal my fate.

"Yah, luck," I said, not taking my eyes off of her, knowing that what I was saying is utterly true.

o-o-o

**Works Cited:**

o- "Some oil paintings take hundreds of years to dry all the way through" – Apparently this is true. One of the guys I was painting fences this summer with told me. He was going to be an artist and had taken a course on restoring paintings. They can figure out if a painting is a fake or not by seeing how dry the paint is. Neat, eh?

o- "Just because it's in print doesn't make it true." – Don't have my book with me to get the direct quote, but I think Pratchett wrote something like this in The Truth.

o- "Honey and lemon juice" – it really does work when you loose your voice. Or at least, I think so. Tastes nasty, but you get used to it. :p

o-o-o

A/N: Bah. What a poopy chapter. I know you are all getting pissed off at their questioning what is happening, but I can't make it any other way or the rest of the story won't work. Things should get better next chapter when Zach comes back. Perhaps he can smack some sense into them... Anyhoo, I am currently in the process of moving to a new city and school, so I don't know when I will be able to get the next chapter out. I know pretty much what's going to happen, it's just a matter of finding the time to type it up. Oh well. It shouldn't be much longer of a wait than this chapter was, I hope. So yes, what did you guys think of this chapter? And what did you think of HBP? Just wondering.

Many thanks to: **tulzdavampslayer**(Foot fetish? No. No foot fetish. You are talking about Draco, right? Bad you, being late for work)**mare-tranquillitatis, Ashen**(I have been seriously considering it. I just have to get these stupid fics out of my system first. Can't believe you would put down HBP for this though)**, Gryffindor's Newsie**(I'm not big on Rob's solo stuff, but I do love Matchbox Twenty. Is that the one he has on the radio right now? I'll try and download it sometime soon)**, LauraWilson**(Yes, I do like to make them think a lot... :p)**, sunflowerchild**(Well, you'll just have to wait and see...)**, alenchic, Krystal Klear**(I can't either)**, Embellished, bootyful77, lexie**(The title will be explained eventually)**, Looney-Lovegood**(Yah, I went to a party. Twas fun. Did you go to one too?)**, HeraSilverheart, louey31, liviechick101, alyssa**(If bad things happen to me you will never find out what happens. Lol)**, sassyplaya**(Thanks, I'll try and keep that in mind)**, Calla-ForEvEa**(Yah, poor Snape)**, Dustbunnie**(Yes, at long last. Lol)**, Californicate, Draco-and-Ginerva-4-ever**(Well, don't you want to think about what you are reading?)**, Logan's Lover, bridgetmalfoy**(Well, what would be the fun if they confess now?)**, JuzElizabeth, mem0rycafe, **and **faile6**(Because I am not ready for them to yet)


	11. You Really Got Me

Title: Painting an Oyster

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one legged lesbian seagull hotmail com (Please add 3 underscores, one "at" sign, and a period)

A/N: Well, this took me a lot longer to get out than I thought it would. I am really sorry. I haven't really had the time to write, and when I do have the time I don't have the inspiration. But I began to feel really really guilty and made myself get this done. My reward is to watch a movie tonight. :p Yay. Anyhoo, over the excessive amount of time it took for me to get this out I have figured out exactly where this story is going and it is now only a matter of getting the rest typed up. I wanted to finish it before Christmas, so I could start my new story, but I don't think it's going to happen. Bah. Anyhoo, enough babble.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing at all. No even my soul anymore, as it is lost in the mail.

**Painting an Oyster**

**  
Chapter 11**

**You Really Got Me**

o-o-o

Soundtrack: "You Really Got Me" by Van Halen

o-o-o

It was raining outside. Not just a little rain, it was heavy rain. The type that keeps people inside. Well, most sane people that is. That's why I left the house and headed off to the Portkey hub this morning, in the rain, because I have no sanity left. It is the only real explanation for my behaviour lately. I mean, why else would I stay over at Malfoy's place of my own free will.

And yes, I did say stay over. It wasn't my fault really. I had just planned to take a catnap, but when I next opened my eyes is was dark out and I was snuggled in behind Malfoy, my hand dwarfed by his against his chest. Ok, so a sane person would have left right? Well, I just sighed and went back to sleep. Right, crazy. Who willingly sleeps beside a Malfoy? Especially a snoring Malfoy? Well, me apparently, but that's beside the point.

And it doesn't stop there either. Nope, if only it stopped there. But no, when I eventually woke up again it was to find him still asleep. Now at that point I should have just left and tried to pretend that nothing had happened at all. But what did I do instead? Well, I got out of bed and made him breakfast, put it beside his bed with a warming charm, then checked his temperature (while making sure to touch his hair again – which is really soft by the way) before finally leaving his flat.

I sighed and dropped my chin into my hand, still staring out the window.

Really, what is wrong with me? I should hate him, and yet I can't. I just can't. I realize that now. But if I can't hate him, then what does that leave me? To like him? Love him? No, it couldn't be the latter. I hardly know him, and I should hate him, so I can't love him. I don't even know why my mind is wandering that way. It's not like we have ever done enough to discover feelings for each other. I mean sure, the sex will be great, but beyond that? I bet we don't have anything in common. And you can't base a lasting relationship on sex alone, can you? I can't believe I am even considering this. He's Draco fucking Malfoy. It's just wrong to be thinking these things. And yet I can't help it.

He can be nice if he wants to be. I mean, he's taken care of me on more than one occasion when he didn't have to. He can also be kind of funny from time to time, well, when he's not being a complete ass that is. But still, even when he is being an ass it is kind of amusing in a tiny miniscule way. And he's tall, which is always good. And I can't say that he's ugly. No, he is far from it. And he does have that delectably large nose of his, and I think I have mentioned to you before that I have a bit of a thing for noses. And his hands are quite lovely as well.

Since when do I pick out the good things about Malfoy? What ever happened to the bad things? The rotten things? The things that I should really be remembering but I can't seem to. Like what he did to me at school. It was terrible, wasn't it? I remember it being terrible, but now that I think about it I can't really remember too many specifics. All I can remember is the impression of him being terrible to me all the time. How can I keep that between us when I can't even think up why I am holding onto it? It's pretty childish really.

But since when is there an us? How can I have a totally different view on life after just one night? I just don't get it. It's not like we did anything. Malfoy just lay in that bed, sleeping most of the time, and I just sat there and drew. I didn't think it was anything life altering, but apparently it was. Even flipping through my sketches afterwards all I see are images of him sleeping, his face peaceful and deceptive. Why is it that people have to look so innocent when they sleep? Why is it that Malfoy had to actually seem likable when he was lying there? And why did I have to get all mother-henly and stay with him?

With another sigh I glanced down on my watch, not removing my chin from my other hand. How is it that someone can be late at a Portkey hub? It's not like there is that much traffic from Mexico to London. Well, I suppose that he does have to go to more than one place, and the weather is rather crappy, but still. You would think they would make an announcement or something.

I wouldn't even be here if Zach hadn't put up a stink. He was very insistent that I come to get him, though he wouldn't say why. I feel really applaud by it, but I can't help but resent him for making me come here to get him. It's as if he feels I have nothing else going on in my life so I should just come and get him at the last minute. Bloody hell, what has gotten into me? First I begin liking Malfoy, then I start hating my bestest friend? It's not normal.

I don't understand how we can be apart for a few weeks and suddenly I have taken Zach out of my life. Honestly, I feel that if he were to never come back I could get along just fine without him. I know I will feel absolutely horrid if something happens to him now that I have said it, but it's how I feel. I know I shouldn't feel this way, but I can't seem to help it. Bloody hell, I need to be committed.

"Ginny Weasley, is that you?" someone asked me from my right. I frowned. Only one person I know pronounces my name with a "guh" instead of a "juh". German fellow, speaks perfect English, but his pronunciation is a little off at times. But what would he be doing here of all places?

I turned to find a short, chubby Slavic looking fellow grinning at me. I couldn't help but grin back. "Well I'll be damned. It is you!" Before I could get a word in he had pulled me into a hug which forced the air out of my lungs. I hugged him back as best I could under the conditions but couldn't help but gulp air after he let me go.

"Hi Michael," I said, once I had caught my breath, struggling to pronounce his name as he first taught me to: Mick-hi-ell. I always butcher it, but he has never told me so. I think he is too polite to say anything, or he is just too used to people getting it wrong that he doesn't care anymore. "What are you doing in a Portkey hub of all places? I thought you were boycotting them." Long story, don't ask.

"I am, but I saw you through the window and I just had to come in and say hello," he replied, nodding as he took the stool next to me. It was then that I noticed his dripping umbrella, which he rested against his stool. "I saw what happened to you in the paper and I wanted to see if you were ok. But when I stopped by your gallery they told me that you had quit. Why would you do such a thing, Ginny, you were such a wonderful help."

Yes, such a wonderful help to everyone but myself. "I want to paint, Michael," I said with a shrug. "And that job was hindering me." I found myself holding my breath, waiting for his response. For some reason I was suddenly worried that he wouldn't approve, and the thought of that scared me. I don't need other's approval to happily live my life how I want.

I suppose I should tell you who Michael is now and how it is that I know him. Well, I met him a few years back, shortly after I started working at the gallery. It had been one of my father's charity functions that I was obliged to attend. I had already come to hate the stupid events and that night was proving no better than any of the others I had been to. I was wandering around aimlessly, when I literally stumbled into him. I was appalled, he was amused, and we spent the rest of the night talking.

It was nothing romantic, if that's what you're thinking, because it wasn't. It turned out that he was a curator of a gallery on the south end of London, and he was telling me about the troubles he was having in attracting people to come and see the work he was hosting. For some reason the twin's shop popped into my mind and I ended up making a few suggestions. They must have worked out for him, because even my mother, who rarely cares about the arts, was soon talking about his place. We've been friends ever since.

"I understand that," he said, nodding in his usual way. It's hard to explain the way he does it, but it is very unique, at least to me it is. It was one of the first things I really noticed about him. "When's your show going to be then?"

I stared at him, feeling my cheeks heat up despite myself. Despite all my proclamations of becoming a real painter, I have yet to try and find someone to host my art. Sure, I have more than enough connections to get my art up, but for some reason I can't get myself to talk to them or to get a portfolio ready. I almost feel as though nothing I do is good enough, or that I don't want anyone but me to see it. It's ridiculous. The art is still inside me, everything else is just the product. But still. See, insane. "I'm not going to have one yet."

"What?" he asked me, looking surprised. "Ginny, you know where this is going to get you if you don't have a show: broke."

"I know," I said, shaking my head. I know. I have enough money saved up to last me another month or two. Three if I don't eat much. Five if I stop feeding Sneazel. Not that I would. I have a feeling he would eat me if I ever tried that.

"Vell then?" he asked.

"I haven't had much time to organize one," I said truthfully, knowing full well that he wouldn't accept the excuse.

His eyes narrowed as I knew they would, but what came out of his mouth was certainly not what I had excepted: "I can understand that," he said, nodding his head again. My mouth nearly fell open at that. What is this? Michael actually accepting an excuse? He never ever accepts excuses. There must be something wrong with the universe as well now; it's no longer just me. "I am sure that being attacked in your own home will change your priorities around a bit."

"Yah," I said slowly, still not quite believing what was happening. "It does."

"Well in that case, I have an offer for you." I raised an eyebrow but did not comment. "I will host your work in my gallery, just to get you started."

My mouth did fall open for real this time. "But Michael-"

"No buts," he said, cutting me off. "I owe you for your help a few years back, and I am finally in a position to repay you." He winked at me, obviously acknowledging the fact that what he is doing is totally out of character for him. He is a kind person, but not a generous one. He swindles and he deals, but he never gives anything freely. Except, apparently, if he is in your debt.

"Now all you have to do is say 'thank you' and give me your address so I can stop by and tell you what I want and what I want more of." He did his odd nod again. "We can deal with the details after all that is done."

I stared at him for a moment longer before I regained control of my mouth. "Thank you," I said, feeling a little numb. I realized my hands were shaking as I rummaged in my purse, hunting for one of my business cards. He took it from my hand without commenting on the card's wiggling.

"I will see you tomorrow at nine," he told me, standing up and smiling. "Have a goodnight Ginny." And with that he walked away, leaving me to stare after him like a retarded goldfish.

How on earth can my life keep taking these huge turns? Not that I am complaining about this one. A spot in his gallery of all places! My art will be seen all over the world now, as his gallery is world renowned. What luck. What awesome luck. How is the world going to try and ruin this for me now?

"You know, I realize that I haven't been around to knock much sense into you, Gin, but I thought even you would know better than to make faces like that in public," a voice drawled from behind me. I turned and stared at the blond before me, my expression dropping. That would be how.

"I have full reason to look like an idiot at the moment, Zach," I told the tall man before me. I didn't mean for it, but my voice was colder than I had intended. If he picked up on it he didn't comment.

"And what would that reason be?" he asked, putting his side bag down on the ground beside his feet.

"I have a show at Michael's gallery in three weeks," I replied, tilting my head to the side. It sounds so odd saying it aloud.

"As in the Michael that can't pronounce your name right to save his own life?" he asked, frowning at me. I felt irritation flare through me. Can he never just like the people that I know? Bloody hell, what's wrong with me? He's been back for a full minute and I am already antagonising him in my mind.

"That would be him," I said with a nod, frowning back at him.

Zach stared at me for a moment from beneath hair that looked much lighter than it had when he left me hung over on the floor. His skin is also darker, now that I look at it. Not a look that I particularly like, but one I know that he loves. I figure if your hair is light your skin should stay fair, otherwise you just look like an over baked Barbie doll or something.

Before I knew what was happening Zach rushed at me, and grabbed me in his arms, swinging me around in a circle. The stool I had been sitting on crashed to the ground and I let out a yelp of surprise at the same time. I hung onto his shoulders for dear life, watching as the people began to point and stare at us.

"That's wonderful Gin!" he said, finally putting me back on the ground and giving me another hug. Once he let me go I stared up at him, wondering where the hell my bitter and cynical friend had gone. That Zach never would have been this happy about anything, let alone something that had happened to me.

"You're in an excessively good mood," I said, staring up at him suspiciously. A Ployjuice potion maybe? Or the Imperious Curse? What ever it is, this is not him. He yanked on a piece of my hair and grinned at me. No, definitely not him. I was just about to back away slowly, and hope that he wouldn't notice, when he opened his mouth again.

"Of course I am in an excessively good mood," he said, stooping down and picking up his bag once more. "I have just been reunited with my best friend in the world, after three weeks of having some of the best sex in my life. How could I not be in a good mood?"

I stared at him. That sex must have been really really good if it has gotten him this happy. I haven't seen him like this since he- well, never. I don't think that I have ever seen him like this. Wait, did he just say that seeing me was one of the reasons that he was so happy?

"Easy, you're back in London," I said, gesturing towards the window where the rain was still falling hard against it.

"Ah, I see that Malfoy hasn't fucked you yet, has he?" Zach asked me, grabbing my hand and tucking it into his arm. I glared up at him, grabbing my purse as he began to lead me away from my knocked over seat.

"What does that-" I began then sighed. There's no point in denying it I suppose. No matter what I say about it he will see right through it, and add a few details along the way to make it into a good story. "No."

"What is wrong with you two?" he asked in a way that would have been in an insulting if there hadn't been a laugh in his voice. "I couldn't have left you in any less of a perfect situation. And even when you fucked that up you still went to him of all people for help. What are you doing wrong?"

"You mean besides the fact that he's a Malfoy and I'm a Weasley and that the world has made it so us even speaking to each other is wrong?" I asked, searching through my purse until I grabbed hold of my umbrella. I popped it open over us as we stepped out into the rain that was still drenching Diagon Alley.

"You and I both know that that isn't the issue," he replied, giving my hand a squeeze.

I mentally paused for a moment. How is it that one minute I can be sitting there, dreading his arrival, and then suddenly I am letting him lead me around, talking about what pissed me off in the first place as though I don't care anymore. How can I be this bloody moody? How is it that the moment I am back in Zach's presence that it's as if nothing had actually happened and we are still bestest friends? But we are still bestest friends, aren't we?

Much to my horror, my eyes suddenly welled up with tears.

"Gin, what's wrong?" Zacharias asked, coming to a stop and staring down on me. His voice no longer had a laugh in it and I felt even worse for ruining his happy homecoming. He should be the one not wanting to be friends with me anymore, not the other way around. "What happened?"

"Nothing," I said hastily, recognizing the look in his eyes. It was the same look my brothers got when they thought someone was screwing around with me. "I just didn't realize how much I missed you." My voice chocked at the end of that sentence and before I knew what was happening I was holding onto Zach as though he was the only thing that I had left in the world.

Yet surprisingly I didn't cry, even when I felt the familiar pressure of his arms around me. Even when I was surrounded by the scent of his aftershave. All I felt was relief that I wasn't being a complete idiot about him anymore. That I still had my bestest friend and that suddenly, for the first time in a while, the world wasn't looking so dreary, despite the gloomy weather.

"How could you not realize how much you missed me?" Zach asked, the words rumbling about in his chest. This wasn't the same type of rumble as Malfoy's. It was comforting, but there was nothing stimulating about it like when Malfoy was speaking against me. Why did that just pop into my head? "I am the type of person that makes your heart ache when I am not around."

"I can tell that you have never been free from yourself then," I said, smirking up at him as we once again began to walk down the street. There were a few other people walking about, all with umbrellas or waterproofing charms. "Other wise you would know what a blessing it is to escape you."

"You wound me woman," he said, releasing my hand to clutch at his chest. "Is that anyway to treat your bestest friend when you haven't seen him for three weeks?"

"Yes," I replied, moving as he tried to jab me with his elbow. I grinned up at him, suddenly very thankful that he was back. Maybe that is another problem of mine, that I am too stubborn and too quick to hold a grudge. Ok, so what Zach did when he left wasn't the nicest of things that he could have done, but it wasn't his fault that I went and screwed it up. It also wasn't his fault that of all the people I could start liking it would be a Malfoy. That's just rotten luck, isn't it? "So what were you doing all that time, besides having some of the best sex of your life? Did you discover the appeal of Mexico?"

"I think I did," he began to say, but was interrupted by a woman's voice that was a few feet away. I felt my eyes growing slightly wider at the sound. It couldn't be.

"Oh Draco, look who it is," the woman said, causing both Zach and I to turn and look at the couple, who were also huddling under an umbrella, a few feet away. I felt a pang travel through me as I realised it really was Malfoy and his mother. She smiled at me. "Hello, Ginevra. Long time no see."

"Hello Lady Malfoy," I said, nodding my head at her. Neither of us moved to shake hands, so I kept mine tucked in Zach's arm. I then turned to Malfoy noticing that he looked like his old self again: immaculate hair, pale skin that had no red blotches, and no red puffy eyes. A small part of me felt sad to see him in looking like a Malfoy once more. Another part whispered that he was still the same somewhere underneath all of it. "I see you're feeling better."

"Not really," he said, shrugging his shoulder. His voice still sounded congested, but not nearly as bad as it had before. Obviously he had used a few glamour charms to keep others from seeing him as I had. "But mother wanted to go shopping, and nothing can stand in the way of that. Isn't that right mother?"

I shifted my eyes to her to see Lady Malfoy smirking slightly at her son. "I'm afraid it is," she replied, the tone of her voice making her sound not very afraid at all, but more than a little smug. I felt irritation flare through me at the thought of her going over to Malfoy's place and dragging him out of bed when he needed rest. Alright Gin, back off. He's her son, and I have no claim on him.

I watched Lady Malfoy's eyes, and they lit up ever so slightly when they fell on Zach. "I don't believe we've met. I am Narcissa Malfoy, and you must be this fine young woman's boyfriend."

I nearly rolled my eyes, but I somehow managed to contain myself. Zach and I get that question a lot – actually, it's quite convenient when it comes to getting out of sticky situations – but I certainly wasn't expecting it from her of all people. It always seemed to me that Lady Malfoy was in the business of knowing, though I suppose it is a little arrogant of me to think that I am worth knowing about. I glanced at Malfoy to see him scowling at his mother.

"I'm Zacharias Smith, this fine young woman's best friend," Zach said with a chuckle, offering his hand to the blonde woman. She smiled back at him in that way she always does, not offering too much but just enough to appease people. "And what type of shopping could possibly drag you out into this dreadful weather."

I glanced at Zach, seeing a smirk struggling to get onto his lips. He was playing with her. I glanced at Malfoy, only to find him glaring from his mother to Zach, yet not looking at me at all. I was appalled, but I felt a pang of disappointment at that. If we really would work together, then shouldn't he not be able to keep his eyes off of me? What is wrong with me? What do I care if he doesn't want to look at me? I shouldn't want him to want to look at me, even if I no longer hate him.

"Oh, I have a birthday party in the works, and I of course needed something new to wear." She glanced at me, still smiling slightly. "Say, I just had a wonderful idea. Why don't you and Miss. Weasley join us. It's on Friday at the Manor, I'm sure you'd have a blast."

"I'm sure I would," Zach said, in a voice that nearly made me retch. What the hell is he playing at? This is not normal behaviour. Maybe he really is someone else right now. Maybe he made the switch when he was in Mexico, and Zach, the real Zach, is still there, basking in the sun having the time of his life. "Yet I have to be at work that night." He glanced down at me. "Yet I know for a fact that Ginny is free that night."

I snapped my head up to stare at him, trying to keep the horror off my face. No, he can't still be playing this game can he? The wink he sent me confirmed it. He can be. That bastard. Forget it all. I still hate him. Not that I hated him before, but I certainly do now.

"Excellent," Lady Malfoy said happily. "Draco will be by to pick you up at six," she told me, smiling in an almost odd way. I couldn't put my finger on it, but there was just something off about the smile. I was distracted from figuring it out by the strangled noise Malfoy made. It was as if he was about to protest, but somehow managed to restrain himself. I glanced at him, and he sent me a look that held both anticipation and an apology.

"I will see you later then," Lady Malfoy said cheerfully, waving slightly. Then she turned and pulled on Malfoy's arm, forcing him to walk with her down the street in the direction that we had just come from.

I stood there for a moment glaring at their retreating backs, then wrenched my hand free of Zach's arm. I tuned on him with the worst glare I could muster. Sadly he didn't even flinch. All he did was smirk at me. Broadly.

"What the hell are you playing at?" I demanded angrily, fighting off the urge to stomp on his foot. Several times.

"Why nothing, Ginny dear," he said, though his expression said the complete opposite. "Just making sure that you are as happy as I am in the end."

"I don't need to go to her bloody party to find happiness, Smith," I growled, feeling about ready to beat that smirk off his face. "You know how much I hate parties like that."

"Do I?" he asked, grabbing my hand again and pulling me along. I continued to glare up at him, yet for some reason I kept walking beside him. I know that I can't go running after Lady Malfoy and say that I can't come anymore, my fate is sealed that way, but it doesn't mean I have to deal with Zach right now. But for some reason, for some _stupid_ reason, I can't stop my feet. It's as if a part of me is content that I have just been set up by him once again.

"I understand it all now though," he said after a moment of my silent glaring. I tried to increase my glare in response; he still didn't flinch. "He has another woman in his life, and you ain't getting anything until she's gone."

I continued to glare up at him, but couldn't help but let my lip quirk ever so slightly.

o-o-o

I stared at the door, thinking darkly of my mother. This is all her fault. All of it. I would not be standing here if it wasn't for her. Her and her bloody shopping trip.

Sure, it had seemed innocent enough when she had come to my flat a couple days ago and asked me to go shopping with her. I tried to tell her that I was still too sick but she would hear none of it, and refused to get out of my room until I had gone into my bathroom to have a shower. That woman is almost more stubborn than me sometimes. I think that is where I got it from actually.

Once I was ready she declared that it was going to be like when I was still going to Hogwarts, and I instantly realised that I had made a mistake in getting out of bed. Our shopping trips to Diagon Alley back then had been anything but pleasant with her trying to shove me into all sorts of clothing that she thought would make me look cute, but really just made me look like an albino penguin. My mother can dress herself just fine, but when it comes to others I shudder at the idea of what is going through her mind. You should have seen some of the outfits she had me in when I was too young to realise what she was doing to me. It's a wonder my father never tried to put a stop to it.

And this shopping trip was no different from those, only this time I was still feeling like crap and just wanted to crawl back into my bed, and have Weasley bring me more soup. But unfortunately that wasn't going to happen until my mother was satisfied. So I found myself following her from store to store, sitting about and trying to look attentive while she showed me an outfit that looked almost identical to the one she had shown me previously.

I was just beginning to think that the day could get no worse, when my mother said something that I hoped would never exit her lips: Weasley's name. And then I looked up only to find her crowded under an umbrella with her non-boyfriend, looking as surprised as I felt. And that is when the shit hit the fan.

How is it that my mother could possibly consider inviting Weasley to her birthday party? How? I would understand if it was because of her father, but I know that was not the case. The smirk on her lips belied that. No, there was something sinister behind her motives, something cunning, and I really don't want to know why. Though I think I am beginning to, and it makes no sense whatsoever.

I sighed and tugged at my dress robes, glaring down on them now as well. At least she didn't manage to get me into anything too ridiculous. Not that these were chosen by her, but she was still standing there, scowling at me as I had them fitted.

And then there is the problem of Weasley. The big problem of Weasley. The Weasley who just so happens to live behind this door. She brought me soup and she didn't leave me when she very well could have, and for some reason the thought of it almost makes me want to smile. And I don't smile.

I don't understand why she stayed, really. She could have just left, but she didn't. She just stayed and put up with me, and didn't act disgusted when The Cheating Bitch would have. And then she fell asleep beside me, and checked to make sure I was alright before she finally did leave. I don't think she knew that I was awake, but I was. I felt her get out of bed but refused to open my eyes for some reason. Well, I was sick at the time. I was allowed to act like a child, wasn't I?

I think what disturbed me the most about the whole ordeal was that I caught myself wishing that she hadn't left when she was finally gone. I kept thinking about what she would do if she was there. If she would brush my hair out of my face, or bring me more food, or fall asleep on my shoulder when she thought that I was asleep myself.

It wasn't the thought that I actually wanted her to stay with me that disturbed me, but the realization that it _didn't_ disturb me. How is it that I can go from wanting nothing to do with her to wanting her beside me at all times in a matter of a week or so? It just doesn't make sense to me. But I think I am realizing that with all matters concerning Weasley, nothing makes sense.

Just as my standing outside her door, according to my mother's wishes, doesn't make sense to me. I could have just ignored my mother and left and not come here. I could have told my mother off and refused to come. I could have shown up late. But I haven't. If anything I came here early, but to what? Spend as much time with Weasley as I can? Have some alone time with her before we hit the party? It's ridiculous. I should just leave right now. I should just save myself the insanity that is only possible if I stay around her. I should escape while I can.

I never got the chance to actually escape though, as my traitorous right hand rose up of its own accord and knocked firmly on Weasley's door. I stared at it. Great. Now I am losing control of my limbs as well as my thoughts. What's next? I throw her over my shoulder and march her over to my bed? And I shouldn't have just thought that, because it is way too appealing.

"It's open!" her voice called through the door. I stared at it for a moment more, half expecting it to open on its own, but it didn't. So I reached out and grasped the knob, then opened the door as quietly as I could.

I took a step forward, trying to get into her flat, but something stopped me. I could feel magic buzzing around me, and try as I might I couldn't get through the wards that were up around her door. I paused, suddenly noticing that the guard who had been placed outside her door by Potter was no longer standing there. Apparently he had been replaced by a new ward or two. I let out a hiss of irritation then took a step back.

"Weasley, your flat won't let me in," I called, crossing my arms and waiting for her to do something about it. A moment later her head popped out of her bedroom and I nearly burst out laughing. Fortunately I only managed to say something I probably shouldn't have.

"So what, you don't want to go tonight so you are going to look as ridiculous as you possibly can in hopes you'll be sent home?" I asked, staring at the large tubes in her hair. Her face, which had been lit up in a smile, instantly slipped down into a scowl.

"And you expect me to let you in when you talk to me like that?" she asked, pursing her lips in a way that reminded me oddly of McGonagall. Luckily I managed to keep my mouth shut this time and not point that out as well. She glared at me for a moment longer then let out a sigh. "You are allowed in, Draco Malfoy," she said, then her head disappeared back into her bedroom.

I stared after her for a moment then took a hesitant step forward. This time nothing stood in my way and I entered her flat, closing the door behind myself. "New wards then?" I asked, glancing about the place. There seemed to be an almost organized feel to it though it was still a mess as usual.

"Mm-hmm." Her voice drifted over to me from inside her bedroom, and I had to consciously keep my feet planted where they were so as not to go over to the door and push it open. "It's like with vampires, but without the long sharp teeth and the nibbles." I frowned at that, but decided it was probably best if I didn't comment. I'm not sure I want to know what she means by "nibbles".

"Woof!" someone said from the vicinity of the balcony. A moment later the fuzzy beast that Weasley calls her pet can bursting from the sliding glass doors, it's claws scratching at the wooden floors in it's scramble to get to me. I felt myself cringe just thinking about the damage the beast left in its wake, though as I looked down at the floor I noticed an odd absences of scratches.

"Well, that wasn't delayed at all," I said to it as the mangy beast collided with my legs, causing me to stumble backward. "Hey!"

The fuzzy thing began to dance about my legs, making odd yipping noises, that were far too high-pitched for my liking. I stared wearily down on it, wondering if I offer it my hand if I would get it back. Just as I was about to try and move away from it, Weasley's head once again emerged from the bedroom, some of the rollers missing from her hair.

"Sneazel," she said in a warning voice, which the dog seemed to completely ignore as it continued to bounce around. She looked at me with irritation on her face. "You set him off, shut him up." She then disappeared back into her room.

I glared at the door, but refused to think about it. I was the one to insult her first so I suppose I deserved that. Still doesn't mean that she has to be that irritated with me. I don't want to go to this stupid party any more than she probably does. I hate these events, even if it means that I get to spend time with Weasley. But if she is going to be like this... Maybe I was wrong about her. Maybe I really don't want to spend time with her. Maybe all of those revelations were because of the fever. Maybe I still have one. I pressed my hand against my forehead, but it didn't feel any warmer than it should have.

With a sigh I dropped my hand on the beast's head, who was still bouncing around me. He instantly became quiet and sat down, as though all he wanted was a pat on the head.

"I don't know how you put up with her," I muttered at it, scratching its ear. Its tongue began to loll out of its mouth and it looked lazily up at me through its mismatched eyes.

When the mutt didn't reply to my question I stopped petting it and wandered over to where Weasley's studio was set up. There seemed to be more paintings than the last time I had been in here, most of them stacked against the walls. I walked over to the pile closest to me and looked at the painting sitting in the front. It was a jumble of colours and shapes, ultimately making an image of a face. On closer inspection it looked like Weasley's face, though it was all distorted as though she was trying to paint more than one perspective at once.

I glanced at the bedroom door, only to stop when I realized that it was open a crack. I could see her standing in front of her mirror, her hands up as she did something with her hair. Her top was missing, giving me more than a brief glimpse of the fine curve of her back and an eyeful of her chest. I swallowed and looked away. Dammit. Doesn't she realize that the door is open? Doesn't she realize that I am standing here, and all it would take for me to get to her would be to push the door open and cross the room to her? That her bed is steps behind her?

I closed my eyes briefly, trying to get the journey out of my mind, and ignore the wonderful ideas of what we could do once we were on that bed. I could hear her addictive noises already, and they were driving me insane. Honestly, you would think I haven't had sex in ages. Well, I haven't really. Not good sex that wasn't disrupted by images of red flashing through my mind anyway. Bloody hell.

I opened my eyes and looked down on the first thing in front of me, which just so happened to be a portrait of my mother. I stared at it, and she stared back at me, smiling in her usual way. I blinked. She must have finished it. I actually forgot that I commissioned her to paint it, though I am not quite sure how I could have done that. I suppose it is a good thing that I had to come and get her then, seeing as I will need to take this with me.

I wonder what would have happened if she never came to my flat last week and I never actually remembered about the painting. Would she have just owled me for the rest of the money and sent it to me, or come to see me in person? I suppose there is no real way of knowing, and there is no point of wondering since it's not an issue anymore. We're talking. Sort of.

"Ow, dammit," Weasley's voice drifted over to me. I glanced over at the bedroom door, but from where I was standing now I could no longer see her. I took a step towards it, not realizing what I was doing, to see if I could hear her better. "Ow," she repeated.

"Weasley, you ok?" I asked, taking another step, then another. When she didn't respond I walked right up to the door, but kept my head turned away from the opening. "Weasley?"

"Grr," was all I heard, and I couldn't help but frown. What the hell is she doing in there? "Ow," she said again and I closed my eyes briefly.

I really hope that she has something on other than her knickers, otherwise I think I am going to regret this. Before I could think more about what I was doing I turned and entered the room, knocking slightly as I did so. I kept my head down, waiting for her to scream at me, but when she didn't I cautiously looked up. What I saw still took my breath away.

The rollers were out of her hair now, and it cascaded down her bare back in waves. My eyes skimmed over her, and I realized that she was wearing a dress that should not be allowed out in public. It was worse than the summer dress Lovegood had left for her because this one was not designed to look flirty, but down right sexy. It showed off her figure even more so than the one she had worn when I decided that I love to see her angry.

The dress swooped low, exposing her back to the air, just barely covering her arse. I could see the indents in her lower back, and it took me a moment to look away from them. They seem like rather perfect places to run your fingers over, now that I look at them.

With a shake of my head, I rammed my hands into my pockets, lest they got a mind of their own yet again, and looked at Weasley in the mirror. Big mistake. She was glaring at herself, her cheeks flushed in anger and frustration. I followed the blush downwards, and didn't stop until I reached the top of her dress – which was lower than I had expected it to be. It went down in a v, with straps at her shoulders, but it showed much more than I want any bloke seeing – no, anyone for that matter.

She bloody well better be wearing a giant sweater over this thing. Somehow I get the feeling that it would defeat the point she is trying to get across. Dammit all.

I shifted slightly, suddenly feeling more than a mite uncomfortable and cleared my throat. She turned her glare from herself to me, glaring back at me from the mirror. I smirked at her.

"Having troubles, Weasley?" I asked, taking another step towards her before I even realized what was happening. I should cut my legs off, shouldn't I? Then this won't happen anymore. No, then she will have to come to me. Would she? She came when I was sick, but then that was Blaise's meddling. Yet she did stay longer than he had expected. A lot longer. Longer than I even thought she would. Not that I had been in my right mind at the time, but that is beside the point.

"No," she said, turning her eyes away and glaring at her hands, which are resting around her ears. I focused in on them, noticing that they were there for the first time. She had an earring on one hand, and was pulling at her ear with the other. She violently jabbed it forward then let out a hiss of pain. "Dammit," she swore, glaring even harder at the earring as if it was the bane of her existence.

"Well, don't kill yourself," I said, and before I could stop myself I had my hands out of my pockets and was walking towards her. When I got close enough to feel the heat of her body radiate next to mine – and she felt so warm – I pulled the earring from her fingers and brushed her hands away. Without thought I began putting the earring into her hole as gently as I could.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see her watching me in the mirror, but I tried to pretend that I didn't notice. Didn't notice the anger slipping away to be replaced with surprise. All I tried to pay attention to was what my hands were doing. Not to how she smelt, or how warm she felt, or how soft her skin was against mine, or what kind of noises I could draw out of her when I was in the position that I am. All I tried to pay attention was to putting her earring in. I will be the first to admit that I failed miserably.

"You know, I could have done it myself," she said, not frowning in anger now, but with something else. I looked away from her face and busied myself with putting in her other earring as well, the scent of her wafting towards me as I moved to her other side. I brushed her hair away from her neck, my fingers accidentally brushing against her skin as I did so. I felt a shock run through them, and tried to ignore it, tried to ignore the way her head slowly tipped away from me, exposing her neck. How easy would it be just to dip my head and- no.

"Right, and that is why you were standing here swearing for the last few minutes," I drawled, putting in the other earring as quickly as I could. The sooner I get the thing in her then sooner I can get away from her. Get these thoughts out of my head. Get back to a life that hasn't been invaded by Weasley. Yet I don't think getting away from her now is going to make that happen. I don't think that there is any escape from her anymore, save the blessing of brain damage or death. Even then it might still be a lost cause.

"I wasn't swearing," she said, her voice sounding softer then usual.

I glanced at her in the mirror to see her watching me. I looked at myself and realized that I was still standing right beside her, even though I had put in her second and last earring a while ago. I was standing close enough that if I just dipped my head, like this, I could brush my lips against the skin of her neck. Her eyes widened as I pressed a kiss onto her soft skin. "You look beautiful," I said before I could stop myself.

A delicious blush (and since when do I think her blushing is delicious?) started from somewhere underneath her dress and continued up until it was on her face, making her eyes seem browner than before. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but shut it again a few moments later, then tried again. I smirked at her. If I would have known doing stuff like this would shut her up I would have been doing it from day one. Well, no, I wouldn't, and I am still not sure why I am doing it now, but-

"Woof!" Weasley's blasted beast said, barging into the room, sending the door crashing into the wall. I pulled back from Weasley just in time to miss her hair whipping me in the face as she spun about. "Woof!" the daft thing said again, bounding forward only to drop down into a sitting position before us. He looked up at me with those blasted mismatched eyes and seemed to laugh. I glared at it from over Weasley's freckled shoulder.

"Sneazel," she snapped, then looked down on her watch. If I had expected her to yell at the mangy mutt and turn back to me I was sorely disappointed. All she did was shake her head slightly and walk out of the room, patting her thigh as she went. I knew it wasn't for me. "Come on, let's get you some supper."

"Woof!" the thing said yet again, jumping to its feet and scrambling out of the room, its tail held at an angle that seemed to say "ha ha." But that's ridiculous, isn't it? It's just a dog, right? It's not magical or anything, is it? Since when could Muggle pets be magical? But then, cats are Muggle pets as well, aren't they? But they don't get the same kind as we do. But I can still swear that thing came in here on purpose, as though it didn't want me to do anything with Weasley. The little bastard.

Feeling suddenly very disgruntled I walked out of the bedroom, glancing woefully at the bed as I went. Whatever could have happened isn't going to anymore, thanks to that stupid thing. She had best not leave him alone with me if she wants to keep it.

I walked into Weasley's studio once more. I could hear her talking to the stupid thing, but I ignored her voice and returned to the stack of painting I had been looking at before. The next painting didn't seem to make any sense, and neither did the next one.

"Those are all the pieces that are going into my show," she said, her voice suddenly beside me. I turned to look at her, to see her smiling faintly at the paintings. For some reason I wished that I was in them, just so that she would smile at me like that as well, with fondness and longing. Where the hell did that come from?

"You have a show?" I asked, trying to distract myself from the horrid ideas running through my mind. She nodded, but didn't say anything. "When?"

"In a few weeks," she replied with a shrug, then turned away and pulled out her wand. "I suppose we should take this with us, right?" she asked, gesturing towards the portrait of my mother. I turned and looked at it as well then nodded silently.

With a silent wave of her wand, brown paper leapt up around the painting until it was completely covered. Then with another wave twine wrapped its way around, tying off in the center with a small bow. Then she shrunk it down to pocket size. She plucked it off of the easel and turned, staring down on it before turning those damn twinkling eyes on me.

"I usually ask for the money now, before I hand over the piece," she said. There was a slight smirk on her lips that looked very out of place. I had half a mind to wipe it off, but her mutt would probably stop me before I could do it properly. "But I get the feeling that you won't just take the painting and run." She held the painting out to me. "So here."

I took a step towards her and removed it from her hands. I felt a chill run through me as my fingers brushed hers. Bloody hell, why does she have to feel so soft? "Oh, and why do you feel that? Think I can't resist you or something?" I smirked at her.

"Oh, nothing of the sort," she replied, brushing her long bangs along the contours of her face. Her eyes caught in the light and twinkled more. "You signed a magical contract when you hired me. If you don't pay me within a fortnight your nose will fall off, among other things." The smirk on her lips spread as mine slipped away. "And with the lifestyle you live I have a feeling that you are going to need a few of those bits, if you catch my meaning."

I forgot about that bit. "You're a devil, you know that?" I asked her, trying to the keep the images she brought to my mind out of it. But wait, my lifestyle? She ruined that, but I suppose she doesn't know, does she? I wonder what she would say if I told her. Probably laugh in my face. And really, who wouldn't? I haven't had decent sex in a month because I can't get you out of my head and it distracts me? I would laugh my self silly if it wasn't me telling this sad story. Bah.

"I know," she said, an impish smile suddenly on her face. I scowled at her, then shoved the painting into my cloak pocket. "So where is it exactly that we are going?"

"Malfoy Manor," I replied, still scowling.

She glanced around. "Are we going to floo, because I don't really feel like walking that far." Her smile dipped into a slight grin. How many different smiles does this woman have? How many does she need?

"What? And screw up my gorgeous hair?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

I watched as she eyed my head, her smile slipping ever so slightly. She didn't comment though, so after a moment I slipped my hand into my pocket and pulled out a little box. Weasley's eyes fell on it and I could have sworn that she stiffened slightly, but didn't react otherwise. What? Did she think I was proposing to her or some shit like that? I want her body, not sure if I could put up with the rest of her for the remainder of my life. Though if the way my mind is obsessing is any indication I don't think I ever will escape her, so why not- and this is where I stop thinking. "I have a Portkey."

"Oh good," she said her eyes still on the box as I pulled it open to reveal a golden marble. "Just let me grab my purse."

"You mean after all of this time you still aren't ready?" I asked, watching her rear end sway as she walked towards her bedroom. A part of me wanted to follow her in and forget all about my mother's party, to see if this time her mutt wouldn't interrupt us, but I have a feeling that there will be repercussions if that were to happen. So I stayed put and waited for her to come back out.

I glanced around her flat once more, suddenly realizing that I had yet to feel the urge to sneeze. Usually by now my nose is getting twitchy, so why not now? I leaned in closer to the table beside me, only to see no dust on it at all. Frowning slightly I swiped my finger across the surface and looked closer. Nope, no dust. She actually dusted? What earth shattering event made that happen?

"I took your advice." Her voice was directly behind me, and I nearly started with surprise. Instead I turned and looked down at her. I could almost feel the heat radiating off of her. "Sneazel's stopped sneezing."

I stared at her for a moment then smirked. "So you mean to tell me that you listened to a Malfoy and he was right?" I asked slowly, my smirk spreading as her face crumpled. Well, she didn't think that I wouldn't cash in on that one did she? "How does that make you feel, Weasley? Anything else you thought I was wrong about? Want to see I was right there as well?"

"You are such an ass," she hissed, turning away and walking over to the coat rack. She pulled a black cloak off of it and wrapped it around her shoulders, blocking my once wonderful view of her rear.

"Yes, but I am a pretty one," I said with a shrug, moving towards her with the Portkey outstretched.

"Says who?" she asked as she glanced around once before waving her wand and dimming most of the lights and putting out a few more. The shadows played off her face, but instead of the lost woman that I saw the last few times she was cast in shadow I saw the fiery one, the one I lo- the one whose anger I love. She glared up at me, the shadows catching in the hollows of her eyes, exposing what her make up had done a good job of hiding up till now.

Has she really been that tired? Has she really gotten that little sleep? I glanced around the room myself, noticing for the first time that she left the lights on bright enough that it would be hard to hide in. That bastard might have given her a few bruises, but I don't think some of them are going to be healed any time soon. The realization made me want to kill him once more. Only that is pointless, seeing as he is already dead.

"Quite a few people actually," I finally replied, holding up the Portkey and reaching out to touch it with my other hand. Weasley reached out as well, and we touched it at the same time. I felt the usual tug at my naval, and a few moments later we were standing just outside the manor's property line.

I could see it looming on the hill, the sun setting behind it in a red sky. The lights were glowing in what should have been a warm and inviting way, but the sky and the shadows it cast made it look anything but inviting. I suddenly got a pang of dread. This was a mistake, wasn't it? I should have run away when I had the chance. I glanced at Weasley, watching the red of the sky cast odd colours on her pale skin. A very big mistake.

The cool autumn breeze swirled around us and I saw Weasley pull her shawl more closely around her. My arm twitched to wrap around her as well, but I held myself back. What the hell is up with this? Just because I can't stop thinking about her, doesn't mean that she can't stop thinking about me, or even wants my advances. It's bad enough that I already kissed her once tonight, well, sort of. Bloody hell, I need to get a grip on myself.

"Your mother doesn't count, Malfoy," she said, turning away from me to look up at the house. "You grew up here?"

"Sadly," I said before I could stop myself. She glanced at me with a frown, but I refused to open my mouth again. Instead I just started walking towards it, feeling my skin tingle as I passed through the over abundance of security wards wrapped around the place. Weasley followed a moment later; she passed through without pause.

"I expect that's supposed to mean something?" she asked, suddenly at my side. I glanced at her to find her watching me with an expression I can only assume was meant to look uninterested, but didn't come close. All Weasley's wear their emotions on their sleeves, don't they?

"No," I said, looking away from her. "It didn't mean anything." She was about to say something so I changed the subject before I could make myself sound anymore like an overemotional freak. Like she wants to hear about how lonely it was to grow up in a house with no other children around. The Cheating Bitch never cared. Actually, all she ever cared about was how much the place was worth so she would be prepared for when it became half hers. Why am I wallowing in the past so much all of a sudden? "I hate these sorts of events, don't you?"

"Like a thorn in my side," she said darkly, her face getting moody all of a sudden. Well, that was easy enough. Good thing she's easily distracted as well. Oh bloody hell. "I can never keep track of all the stuffy fake people who would just as soon smile at you as they would stab you in the back."

"Well, I wouldn't say they would do that it like that exactly. There would be some plotting and some scheming before hand."

"Spoken like a true Slytherin," she said as we reached the stairs leading up to the main doors.

"Well, seeing as that's the house that I was in..." I said, trailing off as she began to walk up the stairs. I hung back ever so slightly and watched as she moved up the stairs. Well, it's not like she is going to be going up many flights of stairs once she is in the bloody house, and it's not like I am ever going to see her in this dress again, is it? I've gone nutters, haven't I?

"Doesn't mean that you have to-" her voice cut off as the double doors began to open of their own accord, revealing the manor's front hall. I glanced around at the candlelight that was everywhere, catching at the crystal and gold that adorned the large hall. Mother had even managed to get the winding staircase, which sweeps up to the second floor, to sparkle.

I glanced over at Weasley, only to do a double take when I realized that she was sparkling just as much as the room. Bloody hell. I suddenly have the desire to either kill whoever invented sparkling charms or kiss them for making her look like this. Man, this is getting ridiculous. It won't work – I need to get this through my thick skull. Either that, or I have to force her out. For some reason I feel reluctant to do that.

"Not one to be stopped by grandeur, are you?" I asked, pulling my cloak off and letting go of it. As always it was caught by one of the house elves. It looked blearily up at me, and I turned to Weasley, who had yet to take off her cloak.

"You're keeping that on, are you?" I asked. She looked at me and I gestured towards the thick wool covering around her shoulders. It would be a bleeding shame if she left it on. That wonderful view kept hidden from the world. Maybe it would be a better idea if she did leave it on.

"What?" she asked, suddenly looking at me as though she forgot I was here. "Oh. No." She fumbled with it, then took it off, carefully handing it to the house elf. It barely glanced at her before making itself unnoticeable once more while carrying our things away to the closet. I could never understand what that Granger woman was talking about, if we didn't employ them they wouldn't have anything better to do. Look at our old elf, he's still dotting on Potter as though the man owned him, despite his freedom.

"I thought you would be used to this sort of stuff by now, what with your father's current position," I said, watching as her eyes returned to shifting all over the room. I have never been all that impressed by what my mother does with this house. Well, I suppose I shouldn't say that as I used to be in awe when I was kid. But that was a long time ago and I have long since realized that just because something sparkles doesn't mean it sparkles through and through.

Weasley scowled at me. "It's not that, it's just, well, it just gave me an idea for a painting." She shrugged. "And I'm trying to get as much of it in so I can paint it later."

"You could always come back here. I'm sure my mother wouldn't mind," I said with a shrug of my own, not quite realizing what I was saying until it was out of my mouth. That's the second time this has happened tonight. What's wrong with me? You can't tell me that her appearance has scared the sanity out of me, or inhibited my ability to keep what should be kept in my mouth in.

She stared at me for a moment then shook her head, glancing at the staircase once more. "No, it's all about the moment. It wouldn't be the same if I just came back."

I frowned at her for a moment, observing her as she looked about the room some more. It's easy to forget when she looks like this that she really isn't all that sane. When she's dressed normally she has this aura about her that says that there is just something subtly off about her. When she looks like this though, it's easy to think that she is just as normal and regal as the rest of the women that go out to functions like this, perhaps even more so. It's funny how the thought of her being a loony suddenly doesn't seem as disturbing as it should, even when a few minutes ago the thought- well, we'll not go there.

The door to our left open and the sound of hundreds of voice talking at once, with the accompaniment of music, suddenly drifted into the room. I glanced over to see my mother, looking as lovely as ever in her new robes, walking towards us, her hand resting on Snape's arm. "Draco, Ginevra!" my mother's voice suddenly chimed from across the room. "You actually made it. How wonderful, don't you think Severus?"

Snape looked at me like a man who wanted nothing more than to disagree, and to escape the party as soon as he could, but instead all he did was nod as my mother would have expected. Sometimes I wonder how it was possible for my mother to mould a man like Snape into someone who is almost presentable to the public in situations like this. My brain hurts whenever I start though, so I usually stop before I really get anywhere.

"Happy birthday mother," I said, stepping forward and dropping a kiss on her cheek. She smiled up at me. "You look absolutely stunning tonight."

"Must be old age kicking in," she said with a slight smirk. She turned her eyes to Weasley and smiled. "Though I am sure that is not why you are looking as wonderful as you are tonight, Ginevra. I must say, that dress does all the right things for you."

"Oh, thank you," Weasley said, the blush once again returning to her skin. I closed my eyes briefly, trying not to think about what I had done to make it go like that a little while ago. Stupid mutt. "And happy birthday."

"Thank you," my mother replied, glancing at me before turning her attention to Snape. "I am assuming you both remember each other, Severus and Miss Ginevra Weasley. You did teach her, did you not?"

Snape glanced between the three of us before sighing ever so slightly. "Yes, I did Narcissa," he told my mother, then looked to Weasley. "It's good to see you again Wea- Miss Weasley."

It took Weasley a split second before she smiled back at him. "It's good to see you again as well." I got the distinct impression, by looking at the lack of smile in her eyes, that she was thinking the opposite. However, if my mother, or Snape himself for that matter, noticed no one called her on it. I forgot that Snape had been anything but pleasant to the Weasleys. Apparently Weasley hadn't forgotten though, just as she didn't forget about her hatred for me.

"Well, I know that you two don't want to spend the evening with a bunch of old people," my mother said, obviously trying to get rid of the gowning tension. "So why don't the two of you have a couple of dances then disappear. I won't say anything about it."

I stared at my mother, barely preventing my mouth from falling open. Since when does my mother give me a ticket out of a situation like this? She knows I hate events like this, and usually she takes malicious pleasure in making me stay for the entire event, from beginning to end. She never- I glanced at Weasley. Oh bloody hell no. Not her too.

When I looked to her again she was already walking away, her arm still wrapped around Snape's. "Why do they get to leave," I could hear him grumbling, to which my mother remained silent, the manipulative bint that she is.

"Your mother and Snape?" Weasley demanded as soon as the doors swung shut again, leaving us in silence. I looked over at her, suddenly remembering that she was there. How could I have though when she is the reason my mother is having such fun at my expense? This was all a ploy, wasn't it? She's trying to set me up, just like Blaise is. How is this possible? My own mother? Trying to set me up with a _Weasley?_ I refuse to believe it.

"It took me a while to get used to it too," I replied, my eyes traveling over her face. Why do her freckles not bother me like they used to? Why do they look almost cute now? "I still get the odd nightmare every now and then."

"I think I am going to be having them now as well," she said, dropping her head and closing her eyes as though she was in pain. "It's just _wrong_."

I stared at her and felt the sudden urge to pull her into my arms. I can't explain it. She doesn't look as though her world is about to end this time, nor is she crying. She's just standing there being snarky. But I suppose you don't really need a reason to want to hold someone in your arms, do you? Well, you do if it is a Weasley you want to be holding, but still. I think this whole evening is turning into one big fucking mistake. I should have put my foot down. Now my mother is going to think that she's won. I won't let her win. Not when Weasley's concerned.

"So what say you to taking up on my mother's offer?" I asked before I could stop myself. This is exactly what the blasted woman wants! We can't play along with her plan! "A few dances and we can bugger off before the stuffier members of my mother's ilk try to stab you." I held out my arm before I could stop myself. What is wrong with me? What has happened to my usual control over my body?

"Don't repeat what I say, Malfoy," she said, wearily eyeing my arm before finally reaching out and taking it. I felt her warmth radiate into me and I could not help but greedily pull her a little closer to me as we walked towards the doors leading into the dance hall. "Insanity doesn't become you."

"I don't know whether I should take that as a compliment or an insult," I said, glancing down on her as the doors opened before us. Her eyes didn't widen this time as though she was surprised by the large amount of people here. Nor did her eyes wander around like the last time, drinking in everything around her. All she did was glance around the room then looked up at me and smiled. I felt something in my heart twist.

"Seeing who we are, I think it would be safest to take it as an insult," she said, her eyes twinkling once more in the fresh candlelight around us. Blast those stupid eyes if hers. "So are you going to lead me out to the dance floor, or am I going to have to drag you over there?" Her smile dipped down into a smirk, and I scowled at her before glancing at the aforementioned floor.

There were about a hundred too few people dancing, so it would be easy for people to realize exactly who I was dancing with. Whatever the two of us were trying to hide from the public, whether it be fabricated or not, would all be for not. If we went out there it wouldn't take long before the word got around that the two of us really are an item, regardless of whether we are or not. It won't matter if we tell them otherwise after this, because they will have seen us and have made up their minds.

I glanced around the room, only to see the people around us already staring and whispering. No, coming here was that moment. Now it doesn't matter what we do anymore, they already think we are together. And why does that notion not make me as angry as it should? Why don't I care that the world suddenly has its proof that Weasley and I are an item. Not that we are, but for some reason the thought really doesn't bother me like it did before. Oh fuck it.

"What, and let all my mother's friends see that I let a Weasley lead me around by the balls?" I asked, turning my scowl, which was apparently on my face already, down on her. She let out a snort.

"As if they don't know already," she said, then began to walk forward into the crowd around us, trying to take me in tow.

It only took me two steps to catch up with her and before I could stop to really think about what I was doing, I swept her onto the dance floor and into a waltz. It took me a moment to realize that as I moved she was actually managing to keep up with me. The Cheating Bitch was never the strongest dancer.

This is getting ridiculous. I need to stop comparing Weasley to that blasted woman. They are nothing alike, as I have really begun to notice. Weasley can dance, and sleeps on the right side of the bed, and doesn't get mad when I sneeze, and she doesn't leave me when she very well could – all things opposite of that horrid woman. There's no point in comparing them anymore, as Weasley is nothing like her.

"Why Malfoy," Weasley said with mock astonishment, pulling me out of my revere. I looked down on her to find her smirking at me again. I arched an eyebrow. "You actually know how to lead."

"You say that as if it surprises you," I said, shifting our position so that we wouldn't hit another couple. It seems we started a trend, as the floor is beginning to fill up. We must make dancing look fun. "You do realize who my mother is, don't you?" I glanced over at my mother in question who was currently forcing Snape to dance. If looks could kill. I wonder why my mother is immune to them.

"Oh, I know who she is," Weasley replied, glancing over my shoulder before redirecting her eyes (which are still sparkling) back to me. The song was coming to an end and I almost felt sorry that it would. "I just never realized you were actually capable of absorbing what she was teaching you."

I stopped moving and frowned at her as she smirked back up at me. Why the hell does she have to look so bloody cute when she's like this? Why is it suddenly becoming very difficult for me to dislike her, even when she gives me ample reason to? And why the hell is the band beginning a tango?

"And I am assuming your mother taught you then?" I asked, receiving a nod for an answer. The music swirled around us and I grinned, a plan forming in my mind as plans often do. "Well then, let's see which of our mothers taught us better." And with that I pulled her closer into my arms and began to tango.

o-o-o

I stared up at Malfoy; I couldn't help it. The man could _dance_. And not in a ho hum I'm rather good at it way, but a drop your mouth open holy shit way. I'm probably biased due to the fact that all my former boyfriends couldn't dance to save their lives and am being blown away by the fact that he can actually dance, but still. Not that I consider Malfoy to be my boyfriend. That would just be weird.

But still, he can dance. And not only can he dance but he knows how to lead and to lead well. He actually makes me want to like dancing again, and that's saying something. As well, he forces me to actually try and remember everything that my mother taught me when my brothers were away in school or off playing and leaving me behind. I am actually truly amazed at what I remember and that my feet are actually taking the routes that they are supposed to be taking.

He smirked down on me as we stalked across the dance floor, his body pressed so close to mine that I would be surprised if oxygen could fit between us. The heat of him was nearly intoxicating, but it was the scent of him that truly was. I don't know what kind of cologne he wears, but mixed with his natural scent and he becomes dangerous. Seriously dangerous. It keeps forcing me to remember his lips brushing against my neck and his fingers gently gliding ovet the skin of my ears as he put my earrings in.

I still can't believe he did that either. I was perfectly content to stand there and curse at myself as I struggled to put them in. He didn't need to come in there being all noble and put them in for me. And he certainly didn't need to tell me that I look beautiful. But for some reason I can't get mad at him for it. For some reason hearing him say that made me feel so happy, so-

Bloody hell. What is happening to me! The way I am going you would think that I actually like him or something. That his opinion of me really matters. Ok, so I don't hate him anymore, but it doesn't mean I have to stay with him when he's sick, or let him take me to his mother's birthday party, or allow him to put my earrings in for me, or even to let him kiss me and bloody well enjoy it. Bah. It just isn't making sense. I should be running like a bat out of hell away from him, but all I am doing is tangoing with him and, dare I say it, having fun. How can I have fun with a Malfoy of all people? The world has gone mad.

The song was coming to an end, and he dropped me into a dip as though I weighed nothing, smirking at me from over my chest, which is heaving by the way. His breath was coming out in hot puffs, travelling across my skin and causing goose bumps to rise. I smirked back at him, raising my leg to his hip.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Weasley," he said, his smirk broadening. "You do remember what our school crest said, don't you?"

"If that wasn't a loaded comment, not to mention cheesy, then broomsticks don't fly," I said, rolling my eyes. I glanced around to see people staring at us. For some reason I couldn't bring myself to care. "You going to let me up anytime soon or are we going to spend the rest of the evening in this position?"

"Nothing I ever say is 'cheesy', Weasley," he said as he began to pull me into an upright position. A new song began, but neither of us moved to go with it. We just stood there, near the edge of the dance floor, as people began to dance around us.

"Right," I said, rolling my eyes.

The gesture brought my attention back to his hair and I almost frowned at it. I don't know what it is, but I hate it slicked back like that. I didn't realize it until now, but I haven't seen him wear it like that since we were back in school. With it like this he looks so much like his father that it's more than a little disturbing. I much prefer him with his hair down. It makes him look much more attractive. Not that I have a right to tell him to not wear it like that, seeing as we're only, well, what ever we are. I think he would just laugh in my face if I told him.

I glanced around and suddenly realized that we still weren't dancing, but were still standing in each other's arms. I hesitated for a moment then moved back, away from him and his intoxicating heat. He looked blankly at me for a moment then started to smirk. I started talking before he could say something about it.

"So are we done dancing then?" I asked, glancing around at the couples that were still going at it. When I turned back he was still smirking at me.

"Now Weasley," he said, his smirk spreading further. "I didn't think you were the type of woman to rush into these sorts of things. I always assumed it would take at least five dances and a few drinks before you would be ready to go."

My face fell into a glare as his innuendo clicked in my mind. "You are impossible," I said, then turned and began to walk away.

Just when I was thinking that I could possibly tolerate him he has to go and open his mouth. The way he goes you would thing that the only thing he has on his mind is sex. He is male though, so perhaps I am not far from the truth. I don't care what people say, once a guy hits puberty sex never leaves their mind. It's just that as they get older they get better at covering it up so that we think they are actually gentlemen. Not that I would ever consider Malfoy to be a gentlemen.

"You don't have to get so touchy about it, Weasley," Malfoy said, coming up beside me as I dodged multiple well-dress guests. All of whom, might I add, were looking at me oddly. Probably not used to Weasleys associating with Malfoys in a willing matter. Not that I blame them. "It's not like it would ever happen." A moment later I felt him take my hand and tuck it into the crook of his arm.

I glared up at him suddenly feeling disappointment for reasons that I don't want to understand. "Oh, right, the whole I look like trash bit and you wouldn't touch me with a ten foot pole, right?" I snapped, trying to pull my hand back. I don't know why I was suddenly feeling so offended, but I was. I gave another jerk on my hand, but he had grabbed onto it with his free one and held on. He frowned down on me.

"If my memory serves me right, it's you who doesn't want to be touched by me," he drawled, looking pointedly down on my hand, which I was still trying to yank out of his grasp as we continued to walk across the room. "You're the touchaphobe."

I stopped yanking at my hand and glowered at him. "So are you saying that you suddenly want to touch me?" I asked, not quite sure I wanted to know the answer or why I was even asking the question. I should know better than to ask a loaded question like that. Do I really want things to lead one way or the other? Can't we just leave things as they are, with this odd relationship filled with tension and unknowingness? I suppose that we can't. Pity.

He stared at me for a moment, that expressionless mask on his face once more, before he cocked an eyebrow at me. We had gotten to a set of doors by this point, different ones from which we had come in, and he pushed them open, pulling me through. "I never said I didn't."

I blinked up at him as the doors swung shut, suddenly leaving us in a dimly lit hall that was a lot quieter than the hall we had just been in. Well, I asked the question, didn't I? I was the one who had to open my mouth to find out the truth. And what is it? That Malfoy actually wants to touch me. And now that I think about it, he never actually said that he didn't. He just threw that question back in my face last time I demanded it of him. Funny. I wonder if he still had the same thought in his head then but didn't voice it. So why would he voice it now? And why the hell am I still standing here over analysing all of this? Why am I not running like my life depends on it and getting away from here as fast as I possibly can?

"You never said that you did either," I informed him, hoping to somehow get us away from the topic. I was suddenly feeling much warmer than I wanted to feel, and with him standing beside me being a wonderfully good smelling inferno with bad hair, well, I'll let you fill in the details.

"And what would you do if I did?" he asked, his voice suddenly getting low and slightly husky. He began rubbing his thumb against the part of my wrist that he was still grasping. I felt shivers run through me, but I ignored them. I need to end this before things lead in directions we will regret. It was bad enough that he kissed me once today, isn't it? So what if I enjoyed it, he's still Malfoy. Malfoy who I am supposed to hate. Malfoy who is supposed to hate me. I'm not supposed to want anything more from this relationship, so why is it that I suddenly do?

"Probably hex you into next Tuesday," I said, adding a touch more vehemence than I had intended. If Malfoy noticed though he didn't comment on it, as all he did was snort at me. His thumb still didn't stop moving.

"Why does that response not surprise me?" he drawled, then pulled his hand away, and began to lead me with the hand he still held. "Come on."

I frowned up at him, yet allowed him to take me along with him.

Why would he take my brush off as easily as he did? Maybe he's just playing me. Maybe he is just trying to see if he can get me to confess things and make a fool of myself. Or maybe he feels the same way I do and doesn't know what he wants. Is it possible for a Malfoy not to know what he wants? Do I want to know which idea was actually going through his head?

Trying to rid myself of my thoughts I glanced around the hallways, noticing the rather menacing portraits hanging on the wall. Most of them were scowling at me, or sending me obscene gestures, or even stooping so low as to pull faces at me. I didn't notice I was doing it, but I moved closer to Malfoy as I looked around. "I don't think your portraits like me all that much," I told him, staring at an elderly Malfoy who had begun to choke when he laid eyes on me.

Malfoy glanced around himself then glared at the portraits. I frowned at him in return but didn't comment on his reaction. "They haven't seen a Weasley in here for a few centuries," he said, not talking to me but to the portraits themselves. "And I am sure that if mother hadn't silenced the lot of them they would have quite a bit to say about it too." He shook his head slightly then squeezed my hand as if to reassure me. "But they're only paintings of the dead Weasley, I would think you of all people would know how absolutely harmless they are."

"Doesn't change the fact that they are giving me death glares," I said, wearily watching them though I knew what he said was true. It was just that it was like suddenly standing in a room filled with Malfoys, all of whom acted just like Malfoy used to when we were in Hogwarts, and they were all glaring and leering at me. It was bringing back memories that I had just begun to think were dead. Memories about the things that Malfoy had said and done to me when we were children.

I began to grasp that I really didn't want to remember any of them. That they tainted the person that Malfoy was now, the person that he had become. They made me want to hate him again, and as I looked up at him, glaring at his ancestors for me, I realised that don't want to hate him anymore. Despite all the things that he does to annoy me, or says to make me mad, I think I have come far too close to liking him to want to return to hate. It's not like he would actually carry through with any of the threats that he made back then. He's a different person now; he has changed.

Then a horrible thought occurred to me: what if he is just biding his time, leading me on and gaining my trust. That way he can suddenly turn on me and do all those horrible things in ways that would hurt so much now. In way that would ruin me. I don't think I could handle it.

I can't believe that I am thinking this. Malfoy couldn't do that, could he? He wouldn't, would he? What would he stand to gain? But then, what does he have to gain by doing what he is doing now without ulterior motives? A new conquest perhaps? Who knows. I don't think I want to know either. I think I am just going to go with this, where ever it leads, and damn the consequences. I have to live in the moment, don't I? I can't be worried about what might happen and what could happen, and what should happen. I thought I learnt that a long time ago. I thought Harry proved that to me.

"Don't worry Weasley," he said, patting my hand. "I'm here to protect you."

I looked up at him to find him smirking at me again. I frowned back at him. "Why does that not reassure me at all?" I asked, as we came to the end of the hall, having the option to go either up a staircase or into a dark room. Of course he led me into the dark room, and all those horrible thoughts I had just had rushed back into my mind. I tried to tromp them out, but they persisted. You know, I wouldn't be surprised if there is a history of schizophrenia in my family, as it would explain a lot.

"Probably because you are a Weasley," he said, moving forward as though he wasn't afraid of running into anything in the room. I looked around blindly, the painful run-in with the car returning to my mind. I stepped closer still to him, hoping that he wasn't just putting on a show that would cause me to walk into something yet again.

"And it's in my blood to not trust a Malfoy?" I asked, grinning at him, despite the situation.

He brought us to a stop and released my arm. He began fumbling with something that sounded like fabric. I stood there, watching him in the dark, though I couldn't see much, only his outline. Then suddenly moonlight flooded the room as he pulled back a large curtain, exposing a back yard that would take anyone's breath away.

There were roses of all sorts in a garden that seemed to spread on forever, perhaps even going into the forest that seemed to surround the Manor. I looked around, taking in the canon statues that seemed to accent the garden, giving it a mystical feel that was almost erotic. A cobblestone patio and paths wound their way around, seeming as organic as the objects they surrounded, moss having grown in between the cracks. I am sure it would have been amazing in the daylight, but in the moonlight it was surely stunning. My hand twitched for my paintbrush, but was once again caught up in Malfoy's arm.

"I take it by your expression that you are stunned by the untrustworthy Malfoy garden," he said, reaching out with his free hand and unlocking a glass door that I hadn't even realized we were standing behind. He pulled me out into the garden, though neglected to close the door behind us.

I ignored his snark and looked around as we began to slowly walk through the maze. I am not usually one to be amused by flowers of any type, actually I find them rather cumbersome, but these are my exception; I've never seen flowers like these before. I don't know if it is just the lighting or what, but they are moving. "What is this place?"

"My mother's rose garden," he replied, leading me past a little fenced off courtyard complete with a set of quaint glass furniture. "Father loved giving them to her, and this is the evolution of his gifts." I felt him shrug. "I never knew the stupid flower came in so many varieties."

I looked up at Malfoy again only to find that expressionless look on his face. He was looking out at the garden, which was slowly beginning to fade in my mind, only to be replaced by thoughts of him. It's corny to say, but in the moonlight he suddenly looked more stunning than the any damn flower. It was just like that first night I saw him crossing the street with the moon in his hair. The painting that I woke up to suddenly rose to my mind's eye and I realized that I had gotten eerily close to capturing him as I know him now, even when I didn't know him beyond the prat that he had always been to me before. Creepy.

He turned and looked down on me, his eyes glowing with this odd internal light that I couldn't figure out. It went away as quickly as it was there as a smirk began to spread across his face. I knew before he opened his mouth that he was about to ruin the moment, whatever type of moment this actually was.

"Bet you never thought that we would be standing here together, did you," he drawled, continuing to walk me away from the house. I frowned up at him.

"Are you telling me that you did?" I asked, looking around as we rounded a corner and entered another courtyard, this one with a little fountain and a few benches. It was also surrounded by brick walls, with an exit directly opposite of the one we were entering by.

"Why would I ever imagine myself here with a Weasley, lest of all you?" he asked me, the drawl still evident in his voice. I looked up at him, only to find him watching me. I frowned back.

"You know my answer is going to be the same, so why would you bother asking?" I questioned him, looking at the water nymph that was in the fountain.

"Because I never know with you Weasley," he said, still leading me towards the other exit. "I was, and still am, under the impression that you wanted me from the moment that you saw me in the Gallery."

I couldn't help it. I had to glare up at him. "Why do you keep saying that I want you when it is obvious that you are the one who wants me, but you are just trying to distract me away from it?" I demanded before I could stop myself. I hadn't even thought of it before, but now that I think about it, that is what it seems like with all of his jibes. I think I am glad that I didn't think of this before, otherwise I would have gone mad. Not that I am not mad at the moment, seeing as the thought of him wanting me doesn't disturb me at all, actually it just makes me almost want to want him back.

"Just because I said that you are a whore, Weasley, doesn't mean that I want you," he said, and I felt my glare slip for a moment as a mixture of disappointment and shock went through me once more. "And besides, we're supposed to hate each other."

"Supposed to?" I asked, my eyes narrowing slightly. Something flickered across his face but it was gone before I could tell what it was. "Are you saying that you don't hate me?"

"Are you saying that you do?" he shot back at me, his eyes narrowing as well.

I stared back at him. How is it possible that we can be getting along so well moments before then suddenly turn on each other moments later? Well, I suppose it is because we are not supposed to get along to begin with and it is easier to disagree than to get along. But then that doesn't explain all the times that we have actually gotten along over the past few weeks. I just don't understand any of this anymore.

"That wasn't the question," I shot back at him, frowning now. "Do you hate me?"

"Do you want me to?" he asked, a smirk slowly and lazily finding its way onto his mouth. My frown deepened. He thinks this is funny, doesn't he? Well, I suddenly don't.

"Why is this so difficult?" I demanded, pulling my hand from his grasp and taking a couple steps away from him. He turned and faced me with a curious look. I could feel my cheeks heating up with irritation, but I didn't bother to curb any of it. If he wants to be an ass, then he can deal with me like this. "It's a simple enough question. You either hate me or you don't. It's not that hard, though you are a Malfoy so I suppose that does make certain things harder than others where your emotions are concerned. If you must know, I don't hate you, though I am beginning to wonder why." I glanced away at the fountain, which seemed very canon as well. "And it's not like it's the end of the world if-"

I never got the chance to finish my sentence, and I am not even sure anymore about what it was that I had been trying to say, as his lips came crushing down on mine, cutting me off. His hands were around the tops of my arms, pulling me towards him at the same time as he pushed us both back until my back thump against the brick wall. I was vaguely aware of his body pressing into mine, pinning me against the wall, which scrapped uncomfortably against my bare skin.

I stood there for a moment, pressed between the cold wall and his suddenly extremely warm body, not quite sure what it was I was supposed to be doing. Should I try and fight him off me, I mean, I didn't ask for him to kiss me; or should I just give in and kiss him back, because it is what I have wanted to do since his last kiss; or do I just shut my brain off and let my body do the rest?

I never really got the chance to really decide as he forced my lips apart and slid his tongue into my mouth, meeting mine, which seemed more than happy to share its home if you ask me. This was a different kiss from the last one. While it still screamed possession and ownership, it was slower and more languid as though this kiss was that one that was going to win me over or something, and there was something else. But before I could figure out what that something was I had already begun to kiss him back. My hands, which were trapped between us, slid slowly over the contours of his chest until I could work them around his neck, and over the tops of his shoulders and neck.

This must have been some sort of go ahead for him, for a moment later his hands were all over me. They went from my hair to my chest to my hips to my thighs, never staying in one place very long, nor both being in the same place at once. The feel of them was setting my body on fire, increasing the heat that I was already feeling from his body so that I felt as though I was about to melt. I shifted slightly, trying to ignore the bricks digging into my back, instead trying to focus on the feeling of his moist lips on mine and to explore the feel of his body under my fingertips. And explore I did.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he suddenly demanded, ripping his lips away from mine and grabbing hold of my wrists. I frowned back at him for a moment, before I noticed that his hair was falling roguishly into his face once more. Apparently my hands, while they were doing their roaming, had found his hair and decided to make sure it wasn't slicked back anymore. I nearly giggled except I had the feeling that if I did he would stop kissing me, and suddenly that seemed like the worst punishment in the world.

"I don't like it when you slick your hair back like that," I said, trying to pull my hand free of his so I could fix it some more. He didn't let go though and a moment later I felt both of my wrists being pressed into the wall as well, scrapping along the bricks. "Oh, not this again."

He didn't comment, just crushed his lips against mine with a force that I knew was going to bruise. He shifted against me, forcing one of his legs between mine, his erection suddenly pressing against my lower stomach. I felt a thrill run through me despite the sudden discomfort of my wrists.

His kiss suddenly became more demanding, more needy, as though my messing up his hair had begun a timer to which he would have to finish this before it went off. For my part I kissed him back with all I had, trying, at the same time, to wiggle my hands free. My fingers wanted to feel him again, to discover how long it would take me to get the buttons of his robes undone. But as with last time, he didn't let go. If anything he just held on harder.

"Malfoy if you don't let go of my hands..." I said, as his lips left mine. He didn't even so much as look at me, instead taking to kiss his way across my jaw and down my neck, leaving a moist trail which began to burn in the cold air around us. I was almost certain that steam was emanating from the tail he left.

"I'm serious," I said, beginning to feel irritated as the frustration that had built up inside of me last time began to return. And I wasn't about to be denied what I had had minutes before just because I screwed up his hair.

A moan escaped my lips as he found a sensitive spot above my collarbone and I tilted my head to let him get better access. "If you don't let go of my hands..." I trailed off once more, a small yelp issuing from my mouth instead as he nipped the spot he had just been kissing. He soothed it with a moist kiss before looking up at me, his eyes clouded with lust and something else.

"You are so goddamned beautiful when you're angry," he said, his voice thick as his eyes travelled across my face. I stared back at him, not quite knowing how to respond. A moment later he dropped his head back down, nuzzling the skin between my breasts.

I felt my heart flip over as I thought about what he just said. That's the second time that he's told me I look beautiful tonight. Why does it make me feel like a teenager again? Why does it make me want to give off some girlish squeal and twirl about? It's not like no one has ever said it to me before, though I haven't heard it in a while from someone other than my relatives. And I certainly never expected it from Malfoy, whose lips have once again found my skin. I titled my head back. Why does this feel so right?

Giggling suddenly sliced through my thoughts, and I looked around to see a young couple walking around the corner hand in hand. They stopped walking when they spotted us, but didn't stop giggling foolishly. "Oh sorry," the girl said, turning slightly pink. I felt Malfoy stiffen.

I felt a flare of irritation as I realised the moment, what ever it had been, was shattered. Malfoy pulled himself up and glared after them, finally releasing my wrists from the vice grip as he took a step back. One look at Malfoy and they made short work of going back they way they had come, still giggling all the while.

I watched him, still leaning back against the brick wall. I had this feeling that if I tried to step away from it I would fell flat on my face. He let out an irritated sigh and ran his hands through his now thoroughly messed up hair. Then he turned to me, a grin in place on his kissed-red lips. I shivered. "Go to coffee with me, Weasley," he said. "Tomorrow."

I stared at him. Does he mean like a date? Is Draco Malfoy actually asking me out? How is this possible? And why the hell is he doing it? I suppose I can understand the kissing, but a date? That means that he actually thinks he could like me. Running into me every now and then is one thing, but to actually want to spend time with me? It just seems so wrong. And why the hell am I not totally disgusted by the idea? I know I said I would just go with this situation and see where it goes, but seriously, a date?

Even with all these thoughts running through my mind I still felt myself begin to smile back at him, a blush rising on my cheeks. "You know, that almost sounded like an order," I told him, finally stepping away from the wall and back towards him.

"I could make it one if you say no," he replied, his eyes dropping down to hips before rising up to meet my eyes once more. There was something in his eyes that I needed to get closer to to figure out. Or at least, that was my excuse for wrapping my arms around his neck.

"Then I had better say yes, shouldn't I?" I asked before leaning forward and claiming his lips for myself.

o-o-o

**Works Cited:**

o- "But really just made me look like some albino penguin." – Sorry, I couldn't help but put in a Draco Sinister rip. I just couldn't. :p

o- "It's like with vampires, but without the long sharp teeth and the nibbles." - Another wonderful idea from Single White Vampire. Nibbles...

o- "If we didn't employ them they wouldn't have anything better to do " – The brief touch on the Unemployed House Elves theory was stolen from Lallie, whose interest in house elves is a little disturbing at times.

o-o-o

A/N: So yes, a little action for you all. Hopefully that makes up for the wait? Or not? Anyhoo, I'm looking forward to the next few chapters, so hopefully that will encourage me to actually write them... What did you think?

Man, many thanks to: **Embellished, friends-16uk**(I didn't know actually. Do you have the link for the site handy?)**, Laiannon-fae-elf**(I wasn't impressed with the fanficish writing, but I did really enjoy the stuff we got to find out about Voldy as well as Draco's development. The 7th book is going to be huge, and I really hope she is going to take her time to write it otherwise I will go howler monkey style on her ass. )**, sunflowerchild**(Meh, what else are brothers for:p)**, Calla-ForEvEa**(You'll just have to wait and see. And I was in university for 2 years, but now I am going to an art college for 4. I think I will go back to the U after I am done this degree. Bah. Going to be so poor)**, Dustbunnie**(That's disgusting! I only ever do that if I am really _really_ desperate! Eww! Lol!)**, Dancer**(Arr, stupid Harry. He doesn't deserve her. Draco does. :)**, wounded-angel**(I agree wholeheartedly with that theory, have since I logged back onto the net after finishing the book. Poor misunderstood Snapeypoo, is all I have to say)**, tulzdavampslayer**(Oh, if only Harry really could be shot... I think I have an idea... I think you are the necrophiliac Tulz... honestly, you keep bringing it up. p)**, a-muses-inspiration**(Yah, I was in the ohmygodwow phase for a while too)**, FemmeDraconis**(She kicks you out of bed? That's cruel)**, Gryffindor'e Newsie**(...wow.)**, emily-zabini, kattrina**(My god, I would be writing this story for the rest of my life if I did that! lol)**, LauraWilson**(I cried for the last 5 chapters, luckily I lived in the basement at the time so no one heard me. I hope)**, Ashen**(Well, just think of him as being the grownup version of canon!Draco. And I am sure that if he dies people will figure out a way to bring him back. Never stopped the B5 fans. :p)**, mt-threat, Criss**(Yah, it did seem like total fan service. Your move makes mine seem so puny. Things went well I hope?)**, sassyplaya**(Oh, it's not going to drag on for too much longer. I hope)**, Miah the Storm Wolf, CCoLoMBiAnMaMi11, Her Guardian Angel, kate**(It's the lack of hate in the fandom that drove me to write it. I miss the good old days when they actually hated each other :)**, bridgetmalfoy**(Dear, you are a complete and utter loon, but you're awesome. I actually live on the other end of the country, but I hear Eastern Canada is very pretty. As for art school, go for it. It's rather amusing at times. :p) and **Cutemouse-evilsqueak**(If only it were as simple as that. Lol. Love your name)


	12. Have You Ever Seen the Rain?

Title: Painting an Oyster

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one legged lesbian seagull hotmail com (Please add 3 underscores, one "at" sign, and a period)

**PLEASE READ!** First off, just let me say that I am sorry that this took me so long. Between finals, working over the holidays, getting sick, heading back to Cowtown, art theft, and everything else that was in the middle I really haven't had much time to write. I did, however, write most of this chapter and the next one while I was sick, but I had been existing on trashy romance novels, and it heavily affected my writing style. Because of this I have had to rewrite most of what I have written. Bah. So that is why it took forever.

Next, I would just like to say that I am going to finish the story; however, I will finish it when I damn well want to, so please stop harassing me to try and get me to write. It doesn't make me want to write for you, in fact, it just makes me want to give up on fan fiction altogether and work on my own novels and such. I am writing this story for me, and for my own enjoyment. I am only posting it because I know that there are people out there who are entertained by the same things that I am, and I am curious as to whether my writing is crap or not. Bah. Having said that, I must admit that I had more fun writing Draco and Ginny when they hated each other, and it is getting difficult to make them sound like they actually like each other without suddenly shifting their characters in an odd way. Bah yet again. I'll manage though.

Oh, and for those of you who think I go and die sometimes, I have made a section on my bio for updates on my stories. I made some changes to this story, and you can find a list of what I changed on my bio. Oh what fun eh? Anyhoo, I'll stop rambling and let you read now...

Oh! One more thing! I saw Sneazel! And he lives in my neighbourhood back home. He was huge, and fuzzy and perfect. I think I might have to steal him...

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am poor. Make me draw for you and I might be able to afford food...

**Painting an Oyster**

**  
Chapter 12**

**Have You Ever Seen the Rain?**

o-o-o

Soundtrack: "Have You Ever Seen the Rain?" by CCR.

o-o-o

"You mean that he asked you out for coffee," Luna said, her patient voice in full swing.

I turned and scowled at her as we walked down the street, Sneazel pulling on his leash in front of us. I took in a deep breath, the crisp air feeling oddly refreshing.

"No, I mean he ordered me to go to coffee," I corrected her, giving Sneazel's leash a yank as he wandered too close to the road. "He didn't give me an option. He forced me to go."

"Now I doubt that," Luna continued, her wide eyes wandering about the street. We were walking towards Blaise's flat. For some reason she wanted to walk instead of Apparate and had insisted that she needed company.

I would have refused, as I have refused to do much of anything all week, but I had no excuse today. All the paintings that I have been working on have been sent off to the gallery leaving me nothing to do but walk with Luna. I still can't get over the fact that I have a show in a couple of days. I've been painting non-stop ever since Michael came by and told me what he liked, and what he wanted more of. I actually haven't really been out of my flat till today, that's how much painting I have been doing. It will be worth it though, I think. Despite the fact that my brain is numb, my wrist aches, and I have put a serious dent into my paint supplies, I am rather impressed with what I actually managed to produce – though that's probably a bad thing, since when ever I like something, the masses hate it. Figures eh?

"If he had you would be in Azkaban for killing the only Malfoy Heir."

I looked at her sharply, suddenly drawn back into the present. Every time she came by this week she asked questions about Malfoy, but this is the first time that she has aggressively done so. But what does she want me to say? He hasn't tried to contact me in over a week, not since our coffee date, which, the more I think about it, really was forced on me. I scowled. "What do you mean?"

"The only way he could force you to go anywhere, would be for him to have tied you up and dragged you there." She paused as her eyes drifted over the trees lining the sidewalk we were now going down.

The sun was setting, its autumnal light casting red shadows across her face. It made her overlarge eyes look almost demonic. Mentally I thought it would make a wonderful picture, but my sore wrist made me file the thought away for another time.

"At which point," she continued, finally dragging her eyes back to me, "you would have gotten lose and killed him for making you do what you don't want. And we both know that there is no one, not even you mother, who can make you do something that you really don't want to be doing."

"So, what's your point?" I asked, glancing at Sneazel who was sniffing around the base of a tree. I slowed down as he stopped beside it. I turned my attention back to Luna.

"My point is," she said, drawing out the last word slightly in a drawl. "That there is no way you would have gone if there wasn't some part of you who wanted to go. And as far as I am concerned a very large part of you wanted to go." I opened my mouth to protest, but she continued talking before I could say anything. "Why are you fighting this, Gin? You're obviously smitten by him, just as he is smitten by you."

"He's not smitten with me," I snapped irritably, then tugged on Sneazel's leash and began to walk away. "And I am certainly not smitten with him."

I frowned at my lie. I'll admit that being taken out by a Malfoy was an experience on its own. It wasn't that he was on his best behaviour, because he was the usual ass that he is; or that he was an excessive gentlemen, because he was just as gentlemanly as he usually is (which isn't saying much really); but there had been something about his eyes that had been different. In the way he stared at me and insisted on holding my hand. It was an odd experience, but I went with it. It wasn't until a day later that I began to realise something dreadful: that I had thoroughly enjoyed myself, and had meant it when I had told him that I wanted to do it again.

He never made arrangements for another go, and I can't help but wonder if it's because I did something wrong. Perhaps my babble about my show and what I am painting made him realise how insane I am. But then he asked me what I was painting, and few people ever do, so I just began to talk. He had seemed interested, well, as interested as he ever is in something. But maybe he realised exactly why few people ever ask me about my paintings.

I almost want to think that he is pulling the same stunt Samuel did, and all the other bastards before him, but it's not the same. With all of them they seemed to genuinely like me right from the start and then it slowly deteriorated into hate. Malfoy never gave me the impression that he genuinely liked me, not even now. Well, definitely not now seeing as I haven't seen him in a week. What ever happened to my avoiding dating for this exact reason, to avoid being rejected again? But how do I even know that I am being rejected? Maybe he's just been busy or something.

Listen to me! All this stress over Malfoy. So we went on a date. So he never owled me like he said he would. So I had fun. I should have known from the beginning that this would go nowhere. I should have listened to myself from the very start. But no, I had to go and get to know the real Malfoy before I could really truly hate him with all my heart. And in the process I have gone and let myself get smitten with him. Figures, doesn't it?

"Now there's a lie if I ever heard one," Luna said, coming up beside me once more. She slipped her purse off her shoulder, opened it, and began to dig around. I watched her, wondering what would come out of it this time. I don't know how she does it, but I swear she carries around an entire room full of crap in there. "Gum?" she asked, holding out a packet of gum which she had somehow miraculously found in less than a few seconds. I can never find anything in my purse, and it's not very big on the inside.

"Sure," I said, holding out my hand and accepting the piece she popped out for me.

I stared down on it. For some reason I couldn't drag my eyes away from it, or even move so much as to pop it into my mouth. What the hell is wrong with me? Why has my life suddenly been twisted around so badly? Well, I suppose it hasn't suddenly happened. It all started when I moved really, or rather, when my roommate moved out on me. Or when Samuel broke up with me. Or when my father became Minister. Or when I graduated out of a half destroyed Hogwarts. Or when I dated Harry Potter after years of wanting him. Or when I was possessed and dragged into the Chamber. Or when I was born. I guess my life has always been twisted and wrong, hasn't it? So why does it feel so much worse now than ever? And all because of a bloody Malfoy?

"Honey, you're supposed to eat it," Luna said softly. I finally looked up at her, only to find that we had stopped and that there was something wet on my face. Oh great, and now I am crying for no reason.

"What's happened to me, Luna?" I asked before I could stop myself, my hand clenching around the gum in my hand. "How the hell have I managed to get this wrapped around the one man I should never have let near me in the first place?"

"From the way I see it, you're the one who went near him first with your Bat-Bogey hex," she said, reaching into her pit of a purse and pulling out a Kleenex. She gave it a little shake then handed it to me. I took it and began to mop up my eyes. This seriously is not something to cry over, is it?

"I don't mean back then, I mean now," I said, sniffling before using the Kleenex to blow my nose. I folded it and stuck it into my pocket, giving Luna a watery thankful smile. "I never should have let him stare at my ass."

"Let him?" Luna asked, her eyes going slightly wider as she pulled out yet another Kleenex and flapped it at me. I let out a small laugh despite myself and took this one from her as well. "Are you saying that there is more to this story than you initially told us in your drunken stupor?"

I let out another laugh, remembering how drunk and depressed I had been that evening. How Malfoy had tried to walk me home. And none of it would have happened if I had just hex the git right from the beginning. I would have felt better about myself and never would have gotten drunk about it. He never would have needed to try and walk me home then either, which never would have given me a reason to doubt his utter evilness. So I guess the real question is, why didn't I bite this in the butt and hex him as I would have back in school. Probably because I, like he, have grown up since then. Though I do wonder what life would be like if I hadn't kept my cool.

"I thought we both came to the conclusion that it is impossible for anyone to make me do something that I don't want," I said sniffling once more. I don't know why I am still tearing up over this though. It's not like it is anything to cry over. So, I seem to like Malfoy a lot more than I should. I should be killing myself really, rather than thinking about him more than any person sanely should. But I'm not trying to kill myself, I am just standing here, on this sidewalk, with my best friend and my puppy, crying.

"I hadn't realised that you'd agreed," Luna replied, flapping yet another Kleenex at me. I took this one as well, shoving the other one into my pocket along with the first.

I dabbed at my eyes some more, finally trying to pull myself together, but it wasn't happening. I don't know why, but these damn things just don't want to stop falling. Just like they didn't want to stop when I finally managed to get to the safety of Malfoy's arms. Somehow the thought made me sniffle once more in despair.

"But Gin, you shouldn't cry over him looking at your ass," Luna said after a moment of silence. In that moment Sneazel had wandered back over to us, leaning against Luna to get some pets, which she was happily giving him. "It'll be a great story to tell your grandchildren." I looked up at her to find her smiling now.

I think Luna is going to become one of those mothers that nettles at her children for an excessive amount of grandchildren. And then once she gets them she will spoil them and corrupt them and be, well, her around them. She always comes up with the oddest ideas as to what she is going to do with them, or to them, when she gets them. So her statement shouldn't have fazed me, seeing as she throws them at me all the time, but all the things she has told me over the years suddenly got a twist with it being my own flesh and blood. I burst out laughing, my tears leaving as they had arrived: without my noticing them. The thought of Malfoy and I having grandkids was just too much.

"Of course, that's exactly what they will need to hear," I said between my laughs. "If you stare at a woman's rear end long enough, dear, you will eventually make her fall in love with you."

She grinned back at me then. "See, it was a good thing then," she said, her eyes glazing over slightly, as they used to back in Hogwarts. "You just have to flaunt your rear end a bit more and he will be yours." I let out another hiccup of laughter at that, dabbing my eyes now wet with mirth.

"Who ever said that I want him to be mine?" I asked, sniffling one final time before jamming the third, and hopefully final Kleenex, into my pocket. Somehow Luna has the same damned skills as Zach does when it comes to lifting me out of a funk. Inside I beamed gratefully at her.

"And we're back to square one," she said, letting out a deep sigh. "If you mean to tell me that after all this time you have never thought about it, or wanted it, then you might as well give up right now, Gin." She gave Sneazel a final pat on the head then took a step back. "Because all that you could ever want is in your grasp right now, and if you don't act soon you're going to lose it." She took another step back, her eyes drifting as though she was thinking about something. "And I am telling you right now that I will refuse to listen to you complain, because it will be as much your fault as his."

I frowned at her retreating steps, as well as her words, but her exit suddenly seemed more urgent. "Where are you going?" I asked, as she took yet another step back, her eyes still off somewhere else. A smile was slowly sliding onto her lips. Sometimes I wonder why I befriended the strangest woman in England.

She pointed to her watch, her eyes finally focusing on me. "Blaise will wonder where I am," she said, her smile spreading a bit more. "Have a good night Gin. Think about what I said." And with that she turned around and walked away, leaving me standing there, staring after her.

I frowned, then looked down on the piece of gum that had been left in my hand. It hadn't even cracked with the force of my grip. For some reason that fact alone gave me hope. Perhaps if I can't ruin the piece of gum, I can't ruin whatever it is that I suddenly have in my hands concerning Malfoy. Though the question is, I suppose, whether I have the strength and the desire to reach for it.

I popped the gum into my mouth, just as Sneazel sat up, waging his tail. It thumped against the cold ground, making an odd, hollow noise. I rocked back on my heels, looking bemusedly at him, all thoughts of my conversation with Luna put on hold because of my silly puppy.

Why have I surrounded myself with people who could not be classified as normal? I instantly knew the answer, and it is probably the reason why Malfoy hasn't bothered to owl me: because I'm not normal, or sane for that matter. My good mood suddenly dropped away. Oh great going Gin.

"What's got you all-" I never managed to finish my sentence as a yelp of surprise escaped my lips as my back suddenly bumped into something hard that shouldn't have been behind me. I tried to jerk forward, but my feet wouldn't act as they were supposed to, and my arms began to pinwheel in my suddenly desperate attempt to get away from whoever was suddenly behind me. Then arms wrapped their way around my waist, pinning my arms. I felt panic lace through me.

"Watch it, Weasley," a voice drawled in my ear then, and my panic left as quickly as it had arrived.

"Malfoy," I said more to myself than to him, closing my eyes briefly in an attempt to normalise my heart beat.

No wonder Sneazel was wagging his tail, what with his new best friend coming up behind me. I should have felt irritated at that, seeing as how the bloody git just scared the crap out of me and my puppy didn't care, but I didn't. If anything all I could feel was relief that he wasn't some attacker; that he was just Malfoy. Just Malfoy. Malfoy who couldn't be bothered to talk to me all week. Malfoy who probably wants nothing to do with me because I am too crazy for his Slytherin tastes. I pulled out of his arms, turning on him with a scowl.

"You're the one who was standing in my three foot hula-hoop bubble," I snapped.

He stared down on me for a moment then let out a bark of laughter. I glared up at him, noticing the red flush on his high cheek bones. It seemed so out of place on his face, and with the red of the setting sun catching in his hair he looked picturesque. My sore wrist twitched despite itself.

"Hula-hoop bubble?" he asked after his laughter had subsided. There was mirth in his eyes, and it matched oddly with the flush on his cheeks. "Who the hell says that?"

"I do apparently," I said, my lips twitching. Well, that didn't come out right at all, now did it? I let out a sigh, suddenly realising that my irritation was gone. I looked up at the man before me, wondering why he was suddenly here after a week of not being seen. Then I realised that Luna must have seen him coming, thus her abrupt departure. Tricksy girl.

"Figures," he said, then he smirked at me. Before I realised what was happening he had reached out and pulled me into his arms, his lips coming down on mine a second later.

I blinked in surprise, then before I could stop myself my eyes slid shut, and my arms made their way around his neck. My heart fluttered with the sudden thought that maybe he wasn't avoiding me, that it was all some sort of misunderstanding and that his tongue running along my lips wasn't his declaration that I am insane. But then, facts don't lie.

"So what?" I asked, pulling my mouth away from his. He opened his eyes and looked down on me with what could only be surprise. I didn't stop to think about his display of a new emotion. "We go on one date and you think that entitles you to kiss me whenever you want?" I mentally blinked. How could I have just said that?

He stared at me for a moment, then shifted his arms from around my waist until he hand my left hand in the crook of his arm. Then he gave a tug and began to walk, taking me along with him. As he passed Sneazel he patted him on the head, causing my puppy to walk along as well, his leash crossing behind us.

"Where are you taking me?" I sputtered, suddenly realising what was happening. I looked up at him, only to find his attention focused on my puppy, who was happily wagging his tail on Malfoy's other side. I still don't understand why he likes Malfoy so much.

"On a second date," he said simply, looking down on me with a smirk. "Then perhaps you won't complain so much."

"What? Now?" I asked, looking around. The sun had almost disappeared behind the horizon, causing shadows to drag out around us.

"No, tomorrow," he said, rolling his eyes. "Of course now." He used my hand to tug me closer to him. I didn't pull away as I probably should have. "Besides, you said that you wanted to go on another date with me."

I scowled at him. Yah, that was before you took a week to make the second invitation. Somehow I wasn't all that surprised that he was roping me into this date just as he had for the first one. It also didn't surprise me that I was going along with it. Sometimes I wonder about myself.

"But where are we going to go?" I asked, shifting my grip on Sneazel's leash. Malfoy was leading us away from both of our flats, and as we came to the end of the sidewalk, we turned in the opposite direction that Luna had. I couldn't think of anything that could be down this way, as it was just residential houses. I frowned at him.

"Somewhere," he said, reaching out and taking Sneazel's leash from me so it wasn't pressing against our backs as he began to walk further and further ahead of us.

"Well obviously we are going somewhere," I found I was saying, causing his eyebrow to raise as if expecting an explanation. "We can't go nowhere, since any place has a substance and thus must be somewhere." I shook my head. "It's just like how something can't be nothing. The simple fact that it _is_ gives it substance and makes it something." I mentally stopped at that. Well, if he wasn't avoiding me because of my insanity, he certainly will be now.

His bark of laughter startled me away from my thoughts and I looked up at him in surprise. That's the second time he's actually laughed at my idiocy, and not in the cruel way that he used to. But if he wasn't avoiding me because he thinks I'm insane, then why was he?

"Only you would come up with an answer like that," he said, giving Sneazle's leash a tug as my puppy wandered towards a car parked on the side of the road.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" I asked.

He just grinned down on me, but didn't say anything else. I frowned at him, wondering how this reaction could possibly fit into his indifference all week. I mean, really, if he was that into me, wouldn't he be unable to stay away? But then, he is a Malfoy, so maybe normal rules don't apply.

He tugged on my hand again, bringing me closer to him. The he dropped my hand all together and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. I froze for a moment then my own arm, seemingly of its own accord, wrapped its way around his waist. Why is this so difficult to understand? Why would he be holding me like this if he isn't interested? But then, maybe he's only interested in my ass, like it seemed when we first reencountered each other. I don't want to consider that. He wouldn't put this much effort into it if all he wanted was to boff me, would he? Yet, he had said he was curious about what it would take to get into the pants of the Minister's daughter, hadn't he? I don't want to think about this right now.

"I just don't get it," I muttered to myself, not really realising I was doing it until I heard the words. Oh great, now I'm talking to myself. What else is going to happen? My right index finger comes to life and I name him Timmy?

"You know, they say talking to yourself is a sign of madness," he said a moment later. I glanced up at him, feeling my face burn red as I realised that he had heard me. And here it comes, the I can't put up with your insanity speech. I've heard it before, though usually not before the relationship moves into full swing. Perhaps it will be easier this way, end it before I get in too deep.

"No it isn't," I said, shaking my head. "It's when you start answering your own questions that you need to start worrying."

He let out a snort. "Spoken like a person who doesn't want to admit that they might possibly be insane."

"Insane is a legal term," I said before I could stop myself. "You might say I'm schizophrenic."

"That's not politically correct anymore either," he replied, shaking his head.

"Well, what ever it is, that might be what I am," I said. While I don't really want to admit it, I have sometimes thought that I could easily become a schizophrenic. I'm in the right age group, and my living situations have never been anything short of hectic. It would explain my jumpiness while being alone, and my odd thought patterns, and why sometimes I really don't want to get out of bed. But then, they say that the symptoms for mental disorders are just exaggerations of normal behaviours. So perhaps I am just grafting the disease onto myself.

"Might?" he asked me.

Here it is, his declaration that I am insane. The end of whatever this is. I don't know why no one ever gets it though. I am an artist, we are supposed to be insane, aren't we? We're supposed to cut off our ears, and hang dead rabbits around and call it art, and be unable to hold normal relationships with the opposite sex. Aren't we?

I waited for him to elaborate, but it never came.

"You don't think that I'm insane, do you Malfoy?" I asked after a moment, mentally preparing myself for his answer.

"I thought you said you were a schizophrenic," he said, his voice anything but serious. I looked up at him and caught his smirk. I didn't smile back at him.

"Regardless," I said, waving my free hand. "Do you?"

His smirk fell away and instead he frowned down on me. He pulled us to a stop, his eyes shifting across my face. I looked up at him, suddenly feeling as though I had just made a mistake. That I had misread him. That he wasn't about to pull out the same card the rest of the gits I have dated had. Because really, Malfoy isn't like any of them, not by a long shot. But then why would he ignore me for a week? And why do I care so bloody much? It wasn't like I went out and tried to find him either.

"Of course not Weasley," he said, his hands reaching out and grasping the top of my arms.

"Are you sure?" I asked, once again unable to stop myself. A part of me needs to know, now, before I let myself fall into him. I never considered it before really, but I can't let myself fall so utterly for a man that thinks what I do isn't normal and doesn't approve. Not again. I am beginning to realise, though, that I might have waited too long for an answer. Though would he have answered me truthfully if I had asked him before this point? Or is he going to now? "That took you a while to get out."

"Well, what do you want me to say?" I asked, releasing one of my arms to run his hand through his hair. He thoroughly muddled it in a way that would have made my insides do their little dance if I wasn't standing here asking a question that suddenly seemed to hold the future of our relationship, whatever it really is, in the balance. "You certainly aren't normal, by any sense of the word." I felt something inside me sink. "Not that I would have it any other way. You wouldn't be you if you weren't a little unhinged."

I felt hope flare within me. He hadn't shot me down straight out. But I have to be sure before I let this little bit of hope run rampant. Oh, will you listen to me? I sound so paranoid. I guess that is what happens when you finally start to listen to your heart again after years of trying to ignore it.

"Unhinged?"

"Fuck, Weasley, what are you trying to box me into?" he demanded, his grip increasing ever so slightly. "You want me to tell you that you are insane? Well, fine, you're insane." Before I could even open my mouth he continued, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that I wasn't used to. "But I don't care. And you shouldn't either."

I kept my mouth shut and just stared at him, wondering why he wouldn't care. Wondering why, after years of searching, I finally found acceptance in a Malfoy of all people. It just doesn't make sense. But as I have been saying for a while, nothing about this relationship makes sense. And for some reason all I can feel is relief.

"Well then?" he asked after I had remained silent for a few minutes. I blinked and realized that he was still staring at me, expecting an answer.

"Well, if it wasn't my insanity that kept you away, then why haven't you tried to talk to me all week?" I asked, my eyes flying wide as I realised what I had just said. Why can't I keep anything in today? His eyes seemed to go wide as well, then they fell down into a frown.

"Is this what this is all about?" he demanded, his voice suddenly going hard. "You think that I just stopped talking to you because I suddenly realised that you were insane? Well, I hate to break it to you, Weasley, but I have known that for a very long time, and despite my best efforts I'm still here."

He released my arms and stepped back.

I felt my heart sink. I couldn't help but feel that I had suddenly proved Luna right, that I had been careless and fucked this up again. And this time I am going to be miserable knowing that this was all my own doing.

"I'm not used to it being any other way," I blurted, not quite sure where I would go from there and not willing to stop and find out. He stared at me through a mask of indifference, waiting. "Usually when people suddenly stop talking to me it's because they have realised that they really can't handle my personality. So, I just assumed..." I trailed off realising that I wasn't making things any better.

"You don't think I would tell you to your face if I had a problem with you?" he asked, his voice calm in a way that made me shiver. It was like the calm before a storm.

I stared at him for a moment. "I suppose you would tell me in the nastiest way you could," I finally said, such instances from our past bubbling out of my memory. The feeling that I was fucking this up began to increase.

He nodded and took another step back, looking at me. I felt fear lace through me. He was just going to leave? Over this? Then anger flooded through me. It's not like he has never misinterpreted people's actions before; I guarantee you that he has. How could he just walk away from me? And with my puppy's leash in his hands to boot. I glanced down on Sneazel who was sitting on the ground, watching us as he panted. All my anger dropped away.

"So, what have you been doing then?" I asked, my voice much quieter than it had been before.

"I've been at work," he said, frowning at me now. "And we're so damned behind I haven't had much time to eat, let alone come chasing after you."

"Oh," I said, blinking. It hadn't even occurred to me that he could be at work, seeing as the last time I heard it had been filled with dust. But I suppose that was a couple of weeks ago now. Why wouldn't he be going to work? I felt my face flush red. I really am an idiot, aren't I?

"Oh indeed," he drawled, then he turned away from me and began to walk in the direction we had been headed originally. Sneazel stood up and followed after him, tail wagging, not even bothering to glance after me.

I stood there staring after them, feeling an odd sense of homesickness wash over me. Before I could figure out the reason I crossed my arms and stormed after him. He was taking my puppy after all. I had to rescue my puppy, even if he was more than happy to go along with the enemy. He doesn't know any better. I have to educate him is all.

But, since when has Malfoy become "the enemy" once more? Didn't he just say that he doesn't care that I am insane. Bloody hell, what does it take for me to be happy with my life?

"Where are you going?" I asked him once I caught up with him. I had to jog a little to keep up with his long strides.

"We're going on our second date," he said, glancing down on me with a frown. "Unless you've decided that my acceptance of your insanity is a bad thing?"

His face was in a frown, but his eyes were impassive, as though he didn't want me to see what he was really thinking. What could he be thinking? That he made a mistake in saying that he didn't care? That I'm falling into his trap just as he planned? Or that maybe he's waiting for me to reject him just as I had been waiting for him to reject me. But that's silly. Since when does a Malfoy fear anything? I thought it was against the family code or something.

"I haven't," I said, then turned away from his face, looking around instead. He didn't respond to me statement, only reached out, after a few minutes, and took my hand in his. I felt a thrill pass through me and all I could think was that maybe, just maybe, I had finally found some stability in my life, even if it is in the form of Draco Malfoy.

"Here we are," Malfoy said, his voice breaking the silence we had held for the last several minutes or so. It hadn't been an awkward silence, just one between two people who are content to just be in each other's company. Never thought I would have that with him. Ever.

"It's an empty lot," I said, looking around at the field of ratty looking grass and trees. There was garbage strewn all over it, as there had been with the rest of the houses down this street. As to how this could ever be a location for good second date is beyond me. But then, I suppose nothing says romance like an empty lot on a run down street. How would Malfoy even know about this place? Incriminating thoughts tried to get into my mind but I forced them back. Haven't I misread him enough for one week?

"Mmhmm," he said, then took another step forward, pulling me along with him. As though we had passed through an invisible curtain, a Quidditch pitch suddenly appeared before us. All the garbage and trees had been replaced by a well groomed field, a set of wooden bleachers, and a shack. I looked about then looked at Malfoy with an eyebrow raised.

"Aren't these illegal within city limits?" I asked, glancing around once more. I couldn't see the Muggle buildings anymore, but I knew that they were there, just beyond the enchantment surrounding us.

"They are, unless you have regulation wards up around the pitch," he replied, continuing to walk forward towards the bleachers.

"Sounds like a tricky bit of spell casting," I said, looking around again. It was a regulation sized pitch. I wonder how high up the spell goes, or if there is no magical roof. I glanced up at the sky to see the moon hanging low in the sky, illuminating the clouds that drifted by. "But why are we here?"

"I thought we could have a game of catch the snitch," he replied, stopping at the bleachers and kneeling down. He began to tie Sneazel's leash to one of the posts. My puppy gave his cheek a lick, but I was happy to see that he didn't continue to do so as he would have if it had been me next to him. Perhaps I do still have a higher spot in his heart. Then something occurred to me, and I looked down on myself.

"In a skirt?" I asked incredulously, gesturing to where my bare legs were sticking out of the piece of clothing.

"I won't complain," he said, his eyes slowly travelling up my body, a lazy grin on his lips. I felt my cheeks heat up, but I forced myself to scowl. Like I want to be showing the world my knickers.

"You take all the fun out of things," he said finally, giving Sneazel's leash a tug before standing up and pulling out his wand. A moment later he had transfigured my skirt into a set of trousers, quite a bit tighter than I would wear of my own freewill. The smirk on his face told me that it wasn't an innocent mistake. "Better?" he drawled, tucking his wand away.

When I didn't respond he just shrugged and strolled over to the shed. He pulled it open and went inside, coming out a few moments later with two brooms in his hands. As he got closer I realised that they were both Firebolts, though one was a newer model than the other.

"Stealing now are we?" I couldn't help but ask as he handed the older one to me. Somehow it didn't surprise me that he would keep the newer one.

"Hardly," he said dryly, swinging his long leg over the handle. "They're mine. I just leave them here for practice."

"Practice?" I asked, mounting my own broom. I felt excitement whiz through me at the feel of the broom's power tingling under my palms. I haven't been on a Firebolt since I made off with Harry's when we were dating. He hadn't been impressed to say the least, but I'm not going to get into that right now.

He looked over at me and grinned. "I'm Seeker for a league filled with cranky business men who need to whack bludgers at each other to lower their stress levels."

"That's cute" I said, watching as his face got guarded again. Well, it is cute. Who would have thought that Malfoy would play Quidditch just for fun? Though considering that all the members are business men, as he says, there's probably some reward in it for him.

"It's not cute," he said, scowling at me.

"Yes it is," I said with a grin, then, glancing over at my puppy, I pushed off the ground and shot up into the air. It felt wonderful to have the air against my skin and tugging at my hair again. I should remember to go flying more often; I forgot how therapeutic it can be.

It took me a moment to realise that Malfoy was calling after me. I pulled the broom to a halt, delighting in the quickness of its response. Malfoy caught up with me a moment later.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked me, eyebrows raised. I shrugged at him, twitching my feet in the air. If it was summer I would take off my shoes. The air through your toes is such a wonderful feeling. "The Snitch?"

"Oh," I said, looking at the snitch resting between his overlong fingers. It twinkled in the moonlight above us. I looked up at his face and grinned. "Well, get on with it then, let me whoop your ass so I can get out of these uncomfortable trousers you put me in."

He smirked at me and let it go. It shot off into the night, but Malfoy's voice drew my eyes back to his. "How about a wager, Weasley," he said, his smirk spreading. "If I get the snitch first I get to be the one to take you out of those uncomfortable trousers."

"And if I win?" I asked, not quite sure why I was playing along with this. Probably because the memory of his hands on me is too tempting to resist, especially when he's looking at me like that.

"And if you win you get to be the one to take me out of my trousers." The look on his face was almost feral, and I couldn't help but feel a shiver of excitement go through me. Perhaps there are benefits to having Malfoy not care that I am insane after all.

"I don't know if that sounds like a fair wager," I said, smirking back at him. I caught at a hair that was flapping in my face and tucked it behind my ear. "Sounds like you're going to be getting something out of it either way."

"You will be too," he said, his eyes drifting down to my lips.

Since when is he this obvious about wanting sex? Was he always like this and I just didn't notice? I mean sure, I've caught him on more than one occasion checking me out, and more often than that I could feel his eyes on me, but like this? Never. Maybe he's just realised that dating someone means sex with that someone. Can't say I am too against it at this point.

"Do we have a deal?" he asked me, holding out his hand.

"I suppose," I said, reaching out and taking his hand with my own. Once again I saw how much smaller mine looked in comparison to his. His grip was firm, and I remembered my father lecturing me on the proper way to shake a hand. I don't know why that would pop into my mind now, when Malfoy's looking at me like that, but it has.

"Good," he said. Then he tugged on my hand hard enough to jar my position on my broom. I let out a gasp of surprise, scrambling to regain a proper hold on my broom. "I look forward to my victory!" he called after me, shooting off into the air.

"You bastard!" I called after him, finally righting myself.

I shot after him, horribly wonderful thoughts of how I could punish him when I won running through my head. Oh, he would rue the day that he ever thought he could cheat me. Now that I think about it though, I put up with his tactics long enough at school. You think I would know better than to go near him during a game, or before a game rather. Apparently some things about him never did change. Well, if that's how he wants to play the game, then that's what he's going to get.

I looped around the pitch, my eyes darting about for the snitch or Malfoy, but I saw neither. I frowned and glance behind myself, wondering how I could possibly lose him in such a short amount of time. I looked forward again and let out a yelp of surprise, pulling my broom handle up as hard as I could so as to avoid Malfoy, who was suddenly stopped right in front of me. A second later he was beside me, his thigh bumping into mine.

"Seems you're a little rusty, Weasley," he drawled into my ear, his breath warm against my skin. "When we were in school you never would have let me do that."

I glared at him, only to find him smirking at me. "You know, the sky is more than big enough so that we don't have to fly at the hip," I said with a laugh, pulling my broom into a barrel roll, clipping his foot with my own as I did so.

As I resumed flying I looked up, grinning, only to find that he wasn't there. I looked around, once again not spotting him. Since when does he fly that fast? Am I that rusty, as he put it, or is his broom that fast? As I was looking around something caught my eye, and before I could pause to think about it I dropped into a dive. I am so going to win this, even if it means that I have to take off Malfoy's trousers as a reward.

My broom jerked slightly in its descent, and with a frown I glanced behind me to see Malfoy grabbing onto my broom just in front of the sticks on the rear. I glared at him, glancing back down on the ground, which was coming up fast. I always had been good at getting towards the ground fast.

With another jerk my broom picked up speed, at about the same time Malfoy came into my peripheral vision, arm outstretched. Without thinking about it, I swung over and bumped into him, trying to knock him off course. He shot me a glare, but was unmovable. I tired again, but as I pulled away his arm shot out and wrapped its way around my waist. I looked forward again, only to find the snitch inches away from both of our outstretched hands. I tried to move forward, but his arm held me in place, making my hand fall a couple inches short, making his closest to the snitch. I squirmed, trying to get myself free.

Then something else occurred to me: the ground.

Slamming my hand back onto my broom I pulled as hard as I could, dragging my broom out of its dive at the same time Malfoy did. We were skimming across the ground now, his arm still wrapped around my waist, holding me back. I flung my arm out again, hoping to catch the snitch before he had a chance to recover from the dive. He jerked back on my waist, pulling my arm away, only letting my fingers brush against my goal.

"Let go of me, Malfoy," I snapped, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. He had his hand out again, surpassing mine, but still not reaching the snitch. I couldn't risk looking away from the golden object, so I glared at it instead of Malfoy, frustration flowing through me. Then something occurred to me, his holding me back was preventing him from getting the snitch as well, for he had extra weight to fly with now. I smirked.

"Now why would I want to do- Ow!" he yelped, snatching his arm away from me. In the second he took to coddle his arm I shot forward and grabbed the snitch in my fist.

"Ha!" I shouted, then felt something heavy crash into me.

The next thing I knew I was on the ground, something warm and hard beneath me. A second later my broom crashed to the ground a few feet away from me, and so did Malfoy's. I looked to my hand, which was still extended, the snitch flapping uselessly within my grasp. I smirked despite my sudden return to earth, then pulled myself up onto my other elbow and looked down on what was beneath me. Malfoy was glaring up at me.

"You cheated," he accused me, moving his arms so one snaked around my back, while the other reached up over his head and tugged at my hand which still held the snitch. He pulled it down in front of his face.

"Ow!" I said before I could stop myself, glaring down on the blond beneath me as I snatched my hand back. "You just bit me!"

"You pinched me!" he snapped. I glare down on him, suddenly noticing that his cheeks were flushed red, and that there was something odd about his eyes. They almost seemed amused, though how that could be is beyond me.

"You were cheating!" I snapped back, beginning to grin despite myself. There was grass in his hair.

"I was not," he said, his newly freed hand finding its way onto the small of my back. I shoved the snitch into my coat pocket then reached out and, before I could stop myself, began to pick the grass out of his hair. I was surprised when he didn't stop me. "I never cheat."

"I bet you never lie either, do yo-" my sentence ended in a shriek as something cold pressed into my back.

Sneazel began to bark from where he was tied up, but I ignored him, instead reaching behind me and pulling Malfoy's hand out from under my shirt. I glared down on him, only to find an expression of childish delight suddenly on his face. I grabbed his other hand at the same time, then pulled them both off of me and slammed them into the ground above his head, pinning them there.

He smirked up at me. "Playing by my rules, now are you?" he drawled.

"No," I said, glaring down on him. My eyes drifted to his Adam's apple, which was moving ever so slightly as he breathed. Before I really thought about what I was doing, I dropped my mouth to his neck and began nibbling at his skin. I heard him take in a sharp breath and grinned.

"I'm making my own," I said after I had made my way to his ear, then bit the fleshy part. He took in a startled breath this time, the muscles of his wrists twitching under my fingers.

I made my way across his high cheekbone, then up to his eyebrow and then down the bridge of his nose. I am sure that if I was thinking correctly I would be appalled by what I am doing, but I'm not thinking correctly so I'm not. His scent in my nose, his warmth radiating into my body, and his skin against my lips is making all the thoughts of being angry, of being tossed off my broom, drift out of my head like water.

It was just like the first time he kissed me and all thoughts of hating him for holding me while I slept had slipped away. Though this time I am the one holding him down, making him feel frustrated at not being able to touch me. I nipped the end of his nose before skipping over his lips to his chin. I felt the muscles under my fingers twitch again.

"Weasley," he said after a moment, his voice gruff. I pulled up my head, from where I was nibbling at the underside of his chin, and looked at him.

"Yes," I asked him, swooping down and nipping his nose again, then pulling back just far enough so that I was out of reach.

He opened his mouth to continue, but never got the chance as Sneazel began to bark once more from his position across the pitch. I glanced over at him, expecting him to be barking at us, as I had the time before, but he was facing the other direction, pulling on his leash. He was barking at something behind the structure he was tied to. I frowned, peering into the dark, trying to see what could make him so excited.

Malfoy shifted underneath me, pulling his hands free of my loosening grip, then rolled us over, peering over at my puppy now as well. "What is the crazy thing doing?" he asked, his voice still gruff, not taking his eyes off of my dog. I tilted my head and looked at him again, everything oddly upside-down from my new position.

"There must be something under there," I said softly.

Malfoy's hand shifted as he reached for his wand, eyes never leaving the bleachers. A crack resounded through the air, and I jerked in slight surprise, trying to see what it was. Malfoy had his wand out in an instant, his body tense around me. Sneazel continued barking, pulling on his leash like there was no tomorrow. Then horrible thoughts started to go through my head.

What if it is the same guy who attacked me in my home? What if he's come back to finish off the job? I remembered the weight of him pressing against me, overpowering me. I stopped at that, and mentally shook my head. He's dead. He killed himself when I escaped. And the weight over me right now is Malfoy, and he is in no way overpowering me, well, at least not in the same way. I shuddered despite myself though.

What if he had accomplices though, angry accomplices? I mean, Harry had insisted that I needed security guards for a while there, hadn't he? That means that there was another threat, one that they weren't telling me about. Like usual. So what if they finally caught up with me now, distracted on the pitch. All they would have to do is get rid of Malfoy and I would be all theirs. I glanced around the desolate area. Only Sneazel would be whiteness, and I don't think my puppy could tell them anything even if he wanted to.

I looked up at Malfoy, his face set in concentration. What would I do if they "got rid of him" as I so lightly put it? What would life be like to suddenly not have him in it? The damn git's wormed his way into my heart, and I don't think he will ever leave. What would I do if the real one was taken away, yet his memory was still in my head? I don't know if I could handle it. It's one thing to scare him off because of me, I can repair my own damage, but if someone else took him away from me? I could never get him back, no matter how much I pleaded or apologised.

I shut my eyes against the sudden horrible thought. Stupid Malfoy, why did he have to be the way he is and why did I have to become smitten with him? Why did I have to convince myself that I had to get to know him before I could condemn him to my hate? Why did I have to ask him what his favourite colour was, or bring him soup? Damn soup.

There was another snapping noise, softer than the first. I snapped my eyes open again and looked in the direction of the sound. Sneazel began to bark louder. I felt something flare inside me – dread, fear? – then something shot out across the grass. Sneazel took off after it, coming short when his leash held him back. My eyes darted across the grass, only to let out a surprised laugh. Malfoy dropped his wand arm, and head, as he realized what it had been as well.

A squirrel. We were both scared of a squirrel.

Malfoy's breath came out in puffs against my neck, sending chills down my spine. I could feel his heart pounding at the same tempo as mine, and I no longer felt so bad about being freaked out.

"I'm going to kill that mutt," he muttered into my skin, his hand tucking his wand back into his cloak. "Say your goodbyes while you can, Weasley."

I swatted at his arm, but didn't say anything, instead frowning up at the sky. Sneazel doesn't usually over react like that if there is just a squirrel hanging about. Ok, sure, he will bark at the ones on the balcony, but they are in his territory. He doesn't usually go that crazy over animals in the park...

I shook my head, realising how paranoid I am being. Killer squirrels? Is that what I am afraid of now? No longer is it just the dark or the fog, but furry woodland creatures as well? Next thing you know I will be afraid of wide-open spaces and refuse to leave my flat. I wonder if Malfoy would still put up with me if that were the case.

"Come on," Malfoy said after a while, pulling off of me and climbing to his feet. He reached down and pulled me up as well. He jerked my coat closed then wrapped his arm around my shoulders. He ran his hand up and down my arm, leading me towards Sneazel, who was now sitting there, panting happily. "I'd better bring you home before your shivering turns into some sort of contagious disease and makes me sick again." I glared up at him. "I just got back to work, I don't have time for more sick days – even if you do bring me soup."

It wasn't until much later that night that I finally stopped shivering. Though if the shivering was caused by the cold of the ground or the thought of losing Malfoy, is still beyond me.

o-o-o

Well, I finally did it, didn't I? I got myself wrapped around Weasley so much that I can't escape anymore. And if I do escape it will be to lead a half life, always wondering why the damned red head won't leave my mind. And how did this all happen, oh yes, because she bloody well kissed me and I couldn't keep my mouth shut. A date. Malfoy's do not date. Well, at least not in coffee shops.

Not that it had been a bad experience, and that is the root of the problem: it wasn't a bad experience. How could a date with Weasley be a good thing? Well, I do get to go to first base with her without her freaking out on me, that's a good thing, right? It has been far too long since I had decent sex. It's getting to my mind. Why else would I admit that her insanity doesn't bother me? Regardless if I was speaking the truth or not?

I suppose the problem now is where do we go from here? If I can't get her off my mind, and I doubt I will ever manage it, then where does that leave me? With Weasley for the rest of my life? Could I marry a Weasley, if only to appease my own desires? Could I love her enough to put up with her for the rest of my life? I can't help but shudder at the thought. I had thought that I could love The Cheating Bitch for the rest of my life, and look at how that turned out. But still, Weasley has proven herself different from that damned woman, though there is still a chance that she is just a wolf in different clothes, or however that phrase goes.

I can't believe that I am thinking about all of this! Just as I can't believe that I am standing outside of her door again, except this time I have no other reason to be here other than I want to see her. That I want to get to know her better, and that I want her to get to know me – the real me, not the idiot she knew back in school.

There is one thing to be said about having to catch up at work and that is that it kept me from ending up here, in my running clothes, looking at her door. At least then all I could do was think about wanting to stand here, but I never actually had the time. However, after a week worth of catch-up we are finally on our merry way again, though I am not planning on taking on any new projects until we get what we already have completed. And that is why I had the time to go for a run, and that is why I had the time to just show up here. Bloody hell, why can't I be swamped with things to do? I can't get myself into trouble if I just think about her. Ok, well I can, but I'm not going to say anymore about that.

With a hiss of annoyance at my own thoughts I knocked on her door – best to just get in there and ignore what's going on in my mind. I don't want to think about why I am so obsessed with Weasley; I just want to be with her. Oh how I have lost my mind.

I stood there, staring at the door expectantly, but nothing happened. With a frown I knocked again, brushing my hair out of my face. Still no response. Maybe she is just absorbed in her painting and isn't aware of me knocking. The thought of her sitting there, covered in paint, caused my hand to reach out and grasp the doorknob, and before I could stop myself, I turned it.

There was no resistance, which made me frown once more, but for a different reason this time: her door should be locked. Without letting my thoughts run away from me I pushed the door open, my jaw dropping open at what I saw.

If I thought that her flat had been a mess the first few times I had seen it, it was nothing compared to now. I don't even know how to describe it, save to say that it looks like a tornado, no several, tore through here. There were items strewn everywhere, ranging from painting supplies to dirty dishes. Clothes were haphazardly hanging off any surface that would let them hang, while other articles, along with paint tubes and other painting related items littered the floor. For some reason the realisation that there were little trails going through the mess made me smile. Only Weasley could create a mess like this, and still find ways to get around in it.

She wasn't sitting at her easel as I thought she would have, though there was a large painting covered in blues in greens sitting there. I followed the trails, and came to rest on the couch where Weasley was lying, fast asleep.

I took a step forward, absently closing the door behind me. I flipped the lock, seeing as she had neglected to do so herself, then headed towards her, using one of the trails so as to avoid certain death.

She was lying on her side, her hip jutting out in a way that just demanded for me to touch it. My eyes lingered on it for a moment, then I moved forward a bit more and sat down on the couch, the warmth of her legs pressing into my back.

I dragged my eyes away from her hip, up her paint covered hands and arms, to her neck. Her hair was covering it, but I knew it was there, long and just asking to be kissed. My hand reached out to brush the hair away so that I could do just that, but at the last moment I shifted and brushed the hair away from her face instead.

I blinked at the heat of her skin. I know that she always feels warm to me, but not this warm. I pressed my hand against her forehead, remembering how it had felt when she had pressed her own hand against my mine. She can't be sick can she? Not when she has her show tomorrow. I looked at the dark tracks under her eyes. Though I suppose the show is why she has run herself down so, isn't it? She must have been painting non-stop or something to get herself in this state.

She shifted against my hand and let out a small groan. "Zach?" she muttered, her eyelids fluttering as I drew my hand down to cup her cheek. Her skin felt so soft, I couldn't help myself. Damn her soft skin.

Her eyes finally opened and she blinked up at me, then let out a startled gas, pulling out of my grip.

"Easy, Weasley," I said, reaching out again and pushing the hair, which had fallen across her face once more, back.

She stared up at me for a moment longer then relaxed, frowning up at me. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice rougher than usual. "How did you get in here?"

"The door was unlocked," I said, suddenly realising what I had just done. I had just come into her home, uninvited, and woken her up. No wonder she freaked. But then, why would she leave the door unlocked if she hadn't been expecting anyone other than Zach. The git has a key to get in here. "Care to explain that?"

"Zach said he was going to get me some Pepperup potion," she said, shaking her head, causing the hair underneath my fingers to shift as I continued to push it back, even though there was nothing to push out of her face anymore. "He must have forgotten to lock it."

I pursed my lips in response, feeling irritation flare inside of me. I know she trusts the man, but perhaps the trust is tenuous if he can't be bothered to lock her door when he knows she's sleeping. What would have happened if someone else got in here? I don't know if she could handle another attack. But then, I am being paranoid. I had thought a squirrel was going to finish her off the other night. A squirrel!

"Are you not feeling well?" I asked, my hand drifting back down to feel her warm forehead again. She shook her head under my hand.

"Figures, doesn't it?" she said with her raspy voice. "I worked so hard for tomorrow, and now I probably won't be able to enjoy it properly."

"I'm sure after you have the potion you will feel better," I assured her. It didn't even occur to me what I was saying or why until I had said it. Yet somehow assuaging Weasley's worries doesn't seem that wrong. It should seem wrong, but like everything else about this situation it doesn't. Am I ever going to figure out why this is happening to me? Or why it has to be with Weasley?

"And if I don't?" she asked, her lip sticking out slightly in a pout. I ran my thumb across it, and she pulled it back in, crinkling her face at me instead in a way that shouldn't have been cute.

"Then we make them reschedule the show for when you feel better," I said with a shrug. It couldn't be that hard to do, could it? I'm sure with a few choice words I could make it happen. Oh bloody hell, what has she got me wanting to do for her now? Move her show? What's next, change the rotation of the planet? Merlin.

She let out a congested laugh. "Right," she said, shaking her head once more. My hand drifted its way down over her back to the hem of her shirt. Before I could stop myself I slipped my hand under, my fingers brushing against her soft skin. She shivered slightly, but didn't pull my hand out like she had last time. I don't know if I should feel encouraged or not. Is she just too sick to bother, or does she not care like last time? Perhaps my hands just aren't as cold. "Like that would go over well. It's not like I applied for this show, it was offered to me. I do what he wants, I paint more of what he likes, and I show up when he wants me to."

I looked at her and frowned. It sounds a bit like a dictatorship to me. Those protestors have been increasing the frequency and magnitude of their protests lately. They still claim that the Ministry isn't democratic enough. Perhaps they should come and protest outside this gallery, it seems even more restricted than they claim the government is.

"I'm sure if I had a word with him I could change his mind," I told her, smirking despite myself. Then I paused. "Where's your bra?"

She let out a short laugh and shifted away from my hand, which was resting between her shoulders. She reached back and pulled my hand out of her shirt, and held it in both of her hands. I knew it was too good to last long.

"It's over there somewhere," she said, gesturing with her head in the general area of the table, or where the table would have been if it wasn't buried under who knows what. "I threw it at Zach."

I frowned, remembering how he had neglected to lock her door. "And why would you do that?"

"Because he was being a git and wouldn't get me any medicine," she said, rubbing her thumb along the back of my hand. I wanted to close my eyes and get lost in the feel of it. Why does she have to be so addictively soft and warm?

"And your bra is what made him go?" I asked, feeling a grin tug on my lips. Of course he would have to be terrified of bras, or at least, he should be. I don't want him trying to see Ginny in hers. Since when is she Ginny? Whatever happened to Weasley?

"No, Sneazel did," she replied, then let go of my hand to cover her mouth as she yawned. "So are you going to let me take a nap, or are you going to ask more questions about my colourful undergarments?" I smirked at the thought, but didn't say anything about it. The way things are going I'll be able to see them soon enough, shouldn't I? Isn't that what I have been wanting since I first laid eyes on her rear end?

"Shouldn't we go into the bedroom then?" I asked, pulling back slightly as she rolled over on the couch, so that she was facing the other way. She shook her head at me and laughed.

"No," she said. "I actually want to get some sleep, not be divested of my trousers."

I glanced down on the skirt that was slowly working its way up her thighs. All I would have to do is reach out and help it. I wonder what she would do if I did that? Would she laugh or would she scream? Either way I think she would tell me off, but I suppose it comes down to the tone of voice she uses.

"You're not wearing trousers at the moment," I said, skimming my hand along the hem of the skirt, then slipping my hand under to rub at her thigh. She swatted at my hand but didn't comment. I suppose that makes both of my thoughts wrong. "And if I remember correctly, you were supposed to divest me of my trousers."

"So you're admitting that I won then?" she asked, looking over at me with a small grin on her face. Despite her feverish appearance she still looked inviting.

"No," I said, "you still cheated." Though I would be willing to be pinched again if it ends with her on top of me.

"Malfoy," she said, her chest heaving in a sigh.

I stared down on her, then, without really thinking about this action either, I toed off my shoes and moved to lay beside her, wrapping my arms around her and wedging my leg between hers, driving her skirt up higher. I buried my nose in the hair over her neck and snorted slightly. "You make it sound as if you didn't have fun."

When she didn't respond I let my eyes slide shut, but unlike the last time I held her, sleep did not easily. How the hell have I ended up here, wrapped around a Weasley? A sick one to boot? I wonder if she had thought the same thing when she brought me soup. And if she did, why did she stay? I suppose it could be the same reason that I am staying, because it feels right. And it does somehow. For some bizarre reason, holding her feels right. The heat of her and her softness is soothing, like just touching her can make everything bad seem less terrible.

Why the hell has my life led me here of all places? And why can't I escape her? Or better yet, why hasn't she tried to escape me? You would think she of all people would be the last one to hang around me. I didn't make her life easy when we were in school, and I have never tried to make her life easier now. So why is she letting me lay beside her and hold her like she was mine? And an even better question is: would she be mine if I asked her? Not that I ever will, right? Somehow that doesn't sound very convincing to me.

"Don't you find this weird?" Weasley asked me after a while. I jerked back into wakefulness. I hadn't even realised that I had been drifting off. Bloody hell, why does she have this effect on me? She's unearthing everything I thought I knew so well. Not that I should complain about being able to fall asleep without lying there for half an hour at least. But still.

"What?" I asked her, rubbing my thumb along the shoulder I was holding. It should be a crime for her to feel this soft.

"This," she said with a shrug. Her arms shifted and she gestured around the couch. "You and me, like this." Her hand dropped down onto one of mine. "What happened to us hating each other?"

"I don't know," I admitted. Well, I don't. Looking back at it all I see is my falling in love with her anger, and wanting nothing more than to piss her off, so I do. Then we have some falling out over a misunderstanding, which really, could have happened to anyone, and all I can think about is her. Next thing I know she's crying in my arms and things haven't been right ever since. Somewhere in there the hate went away, but no where in there is an explanation as to why.

"This should feel wrong, shouldn't it?" she asked, her fingers gently running along my knuckles. No matter how much I wanted to hate the feeling I couldn't bring myself to think about anything other than how good it felt to be touched by her. It should feel wrong, all horribly wrong, but it doesn't. "Why doesn't it feel wrong?"

"Maybe because it isn't wrong," I offered, frowning as I said it. How can this not be wrong? She's a Weasley, I'm a Malfoy. The simple fact that we are together goes against family hatred that goes back countless generations. Not that there is really anyone on my side to say anything against it anymore, save for my grandfather, but he doesn't really know what's going on anymore anyway. My mother, it seems, doesn't seem to care either, otherwise she never would have invited Weasley to her party, or made me go fetch her. Now that I think about it, she hasn't said one word against Weasley since she bought the gallery. How very odd. My mother does have a habit of speaking her mind, if you haven't noticed.

"But we hardly know each other," she stated, shifting her hand to grip mine. "And knowing your favourite colour does not mean that we know each other."

I blinked. She knows my favourite colour? I stared down on her hair, realising that with her my favourite colour is always around. But how did she find out? Oh, that's right. When I was delusional and sick. I told her then, didn't I? Doesn't knowing someone's favourite colour mean that you know them though? I never tell anyone – not that anyone's ever asked me before, now that I think about it. You can tell a lot about a person by the colours that they chose to surround themselves with, or by their favourite colour.

"Well, do you want to get to know me better?" I asked before I could think about what I was saying. What happens if she doesn't? What then? Will my life be torn apart once more? Or will my mind finally be rid of her? Somehow I doubt the latter idea will be the ultimate result.

The grip on my hand increased, then she quietly said, "yes. Despite everything, I do."

I felt my heart do a summersault.

"Then we get to know each other better," I said, turning my hand and holding hers firmly. "And we can start by you telling me why we're lying on this bloody couch instead of taking advantage of your deliciously large bed in that bedroom of yours."

"Malfoy!" she exclaimed, twisting around to glare at me. I couldn't help but smirk back at her. Well, it is a valid question. "I'm being serious!"

"So am I," I said. Really, there are a lot more interesting things that we can do in there. I suppose we could do them out here as well, if we really wanted to, but that's not the point.

She just glared back at me, and after a moment I sighed, rubbing my thumb across the back of her hand. I opened my mouth to respond but the rattling of the doorknob caused us both to look in the direction of the door. About the same time there was a bark from the balcony, and a moment later that damned beast came bounding into the room, claws scratching at the floor like there was no tomorrow. I scowled at it for a second then returned my attention to the door, where the sound of a key unlocking the door could be heard.

"Ginny I've got your- aggh!" Weasley's non-boyfriend said as he stepped into the room, his eyes falling on us. There was a paper bag in his hands, and he was dressed in a suit. What could possibly have him in a suit? "Can't you two do that in the bedroom?"

"That was what I was just wondering," I drawled in response. Weasley swatted at my arms, and after waiting a moment I let her sit up, forcing myself to move at the same time. She sat beside me in a slouch, her thighs just touching mine.

"Oh come on," Ginny grumbled, running a hand though her hair. My hand twitched to run through it as well, but this was no longer the time. "It's not like I haven't walked in on you in far more racy situations, and not just in your own flat." The non-boyfriend had the grace to blush at that. Weasley shook her head. "It goes both ways you know."

"Yah, whatever," he said, closing the door and taking a step towards the couch. There was a scramble of claws, and the furry beast was suddenly between the couch and the coffee table. How it got through the disaster zone that is Weasley's apartment is beyond me, but it was growling at the blond. "Oh don't you start with me," he snapped at the thing and handed Weasley the paper bag.

"Is it the non-steaming kind?" she asked, looking at the bag as if that could give her all the answers she needed.

"No," he replied, glaring down on the creature sitting between the legs of Weasley and I. "Why would I get you the non-steaming kind?"

"Because I asked you to," she said, her tone annoyed, but there was a smile on her lips. The non-boyfriend looked anything but cheerful, and I frowned, idly reaching out and petting the beast's head.

"Right, and because Ginny asks, Ginny receives," he said, shaking his head, and dropping his keys into his pocket. Weasley ignored his snark and pulled out the bottle that was inside the bag. Her smile seemed to spread wider, and when she looked up at the man standing before us her eyes seemed to twinkle. I almost scowled, but made myself stop. It's not like I am the only person in her life. I can't expect her to only make her eyes twinkle for me.

"Thank you, Zachypoo," Weasley said, beaming at him while reaching out with her foot to rub the beast's fur. I felt my mouth fall open despite myself, all thoughts of twinkling eyes dropping away. Who pets something with their feet?

"Yah, she does that," the man said, and I looked up to find him looking at me. "It's a wonder that thing is still loyal to her."

"Ignore him," Weasley said to me. "He's just jealous because Sneazel doesn't try to bite your leg off every time you come near me."

"That still doesn't make sense to me," he said, coming around the couch behind us, keeping an eye on Sneazel the whole way. I kept my eye on the bummer, though it was simply because I have never liked it when people stand directly behind me and I can't see what they are doing. Say it's the paranoid Slytherin in me. "Out of all the people to have a vendetta against, he's the one he should be attacking with tooth and claw."

I frowned at him, but he just shot an eyebrow up, before swooping down and placing a kiss on Weasley's cheek. The beast let out a bark, and tried to get up, but Weasley had her legs wrapped around its neck so that it couldn't get up.

"I'm off to play dictator with my staff," he said, heading back towards the door. "I'll see you tomorrow at your show."

"Don't get too totalitarian on them, you might have an insurrection," Weasley quipped beside me, holding the bottle of Pepperup potion in her hands.

"If I was being too totalitarian they wouldn't dare revolt, for fear of death," he replied, fingers on the doorknob. His eyes turned to me and narrowed slightly before he nodded his head. "Malfoy." And with that he exited the flat, closing the door behind him. A moment later I heard the lock click into place.

So why would he lock it now and not have locked it before? And why didn't I say something about it when I had the chance? I suppose I will just have to pull him aside tomorrow at her show. I am sure there will be plenty of opportunity, as the thing is going to be on for several hours. I wonder how long Weasley is going to have to stay.

"What was all that about totalitarianism?" I asked, reaching out and taking the bottle from her. It was the non-steaming kind, as well as the ready-serve kind. She wouldn't need to do anything but drink it to feel better, unlike most of the other kinds, which you have to brew yourself. His words about Weasley needing taking care of flitted through my mind, and some how his choice of medicine summed it all up.

"Oh," she said, shrugging as she slumped back against the couch. I glanced over to see that her eyes had slid shut. I would have reached back and brushed her hair out of her face, but my hands were already occupied with breaking the bottle's seal. "Some of his employees have decided that the revolutionists that are giving my father trouble make some sense. They want some changes made to make Zach's bar more like a democracy, or something stupid like that."

"But it's his business," I replied, shaking my head. If my employees tried that on me they would be gone, shortage of workers or not.

"I know," she said, opening her eyes to look at me. "Why do people always have to try and mess things up when things are finally starting to go right again?"

I stared at her, wondering the same thing myself. As Blaise and I have been arguing for the past few weeks, there is nothing terribly wrong with the government as it stands. Sure, it has its problems, but what institution doesn't? It's a hell of a lot better off than it was during the war. That is one thing to be said about Weasley's policies. Though it's funny how I never thought to think about how Ginny would feel about all of this. It's her father at the reins of the government right now, and anything that they say about him, affects her too, doesn't it?

"Sometimes I think it is against our nature to be happy, Weasley," I said, handing her the little cup that came with the bottle. I had filled it with the medicine without thinking about what I was doing. Yet somehow the thought that I was playing her nursemaid didn't enter my mind, nor did it bother me. Bloody hell.

She took it silently, an odd look flitting across her face. I frowned slightly, but it was gone as quickly as it had arrived. She titled her head back and downed the potion, making an odd face a moment later.

"Don't like the taste of this either?" I asked, realising that the face looked similar to the one she had made after drinking my coffee a few weeks ago.

"No," she said, shaking her head while putting the little cup down on top of all the stuff plied on her table. "I just suddenly got the feeling that I am forgetting something." She frowned and looked about, then stood, her skirt falling back into place. Her beast shifted and rested his head on my knee, looking up at me through mismatched eyes.

"Perhaps you need to feed this thing," I said, pulling my eyes away from the sway of her hips to look wearily down on the mutt. He stared back, then began to lick my hand. I watched it, repulsed, yet oddly intrigued by the serious way he went about doing it. I knew I should pull my hand away, as he was covering it with drool, working from one finger to another, but I couldn't. It was the most peculiar sensation.

I glanced over to Weasley to find her smirking at me. She had a pink bra in her hands, and for a moment I thought she was smirking because of it. I was just about to start smirking back, when her eyes dropped to the thing licking my hands, and I realised she was smirking for a totally different reason than I wanted her to be.

"What?" I asked, trying not to feel disappointed. I glanced down on the thing, who was now working his rough tongue against webbing between my fingers.

"He does feet too," she said, then headed into her bedroom.

"That's disgusting!" I sneered before I could stop myself, turning about to glare at the door. She had left it half open again, but this time I couldn't see her without getting up. I pulled my hand away from the slobbering beast and wiped my hands on my trousers. I didn't even look at him as I got up, fully intent on going into the bedroom after her. "It's a wonder the thing is still alive after he's been forced to wash your overlarge feet."

"My feet are not overlarge!" she exclaimed. I walked in, not bothering to keep my head down this time. She glared at me from the mirror in her wardrobe. "They are perfectly proportioned to my body." I felt my lip twitch, and I let my eyes travel the length of the body in question. Her bra was back on and she was in the process of putting her shirt back on as well. "And don't you dare comment on that," she snapped before I could say anything, pulling her shirt back into place.

"Wasn't planning to," I said, reaching out and pulling her towards me. I brushed the hair away from her neck and kissed her soft skin.

"Ginny?" a voice called from the other room. Weasley jumped in my arms and I whipped around, looking at the doorway I had just come through. Something crashed to the ground outside. "Bloody hell Ginny, what have you done to this place?" There was a scratching of paws a moment later, and who ever was out there quietly spoke to Weasley's mutt, "oh, don't you come near me with that fur of yours."

"Oh shit," Ginny muttered, her head connecting with my shoulder, before she pulled away from me. "That's what I forgot."

"Who is it?" I asked, keeping my voice down as well. I had this dreadful feeling that I knew what she was going to say, but I didn't want to think about it.

"My mother," she said, just as the door to the bedroom creaked open ominously. I turned to see a short, plump woman, dressed in clothes that would have made my mother scoff. Her face was creased into a smile, but as her eyes fell on me it dropped away into surprise.

"Oh, I didn't realise you had company," she said, glancing about the room as if to make a point. I heard Weasley snort behind me, then she stepped forward to stand in front of me.

"Mum, this is Draco Malfoy," she said, gesturing towards me with her head. Then she turned and looked at me with an expression that begged for forgiveness. "Draco, this is my mother."

"Please to meet you," I said, reaching past Ginny to offer her mother my hand.

"Pleasure's all mine," she replied, shaking it. Her grip was firmer than I expected it to be; but then, she is the wife of the Minister. I suppose she would need to be able to hold her own at the sorts of events that come with her husband's title.

She turned away from me and looked at her daughter. "Don't I get a hug?" she asked.

"Of course," Weasley replied, and took a step forward, stooping down to give her mother a hug.

It was obvious that she got her height and her stature from her father, and not her mother. I felt relief flit through me at the realisation. I had always heard that you can look at a woman's mother to see how well she will age, and while her mother is no hag, she's a far cry from what Weasley looks like now. Somehow I get the feeling that that it wouldn't matter in the end though, she would still be the same Weasley.

"So why don't you go and make us some tea," the older woman said, stepping away from her daughter and smiling up at her. She glanced at me, though her smile didn't drop away as I had expected it to.

"Mum," Ginny said in a voice that boarded a whine. She glanced back at me almost desperately, then looked back at her mother. The woman's smile dropped away to be replaced by a scowl.

"I don't have time to come back," the elder Weasley told her daughter, shaking her head. "I have to help your father tonight, as you well know."

"But mum-" she began. I could tell by her posture that she was getting annoyed. I would have enjoyed it if it hadn't been for the other Weasley that was causing it. Somehow I get the feeling that the two of them together having a row will not be a fun time. Obviously Weasley got her anger from somewhere, and I am beginning to think I know which side it is from.

"No buts," the older woman said, stepping aside to let her daughter walk past her. Weasley shot her mother a look then sullenly walked out of the room. She looked like she was in the mood to slam the door behind her, but she seemed able to restrain herself. A moment later I realised that I was left in Weasley's bedroom with her mother. I looked over to find the woman staring at me, all traces of friendliness absent from her face.

"So what brings you here, Mister Malfoy?" she asked, crossing her hands over her ample chest. It's almost a pity that Weasley inherited the anger rather than that. Almost.

"I was in the neighbourhood," I said with a shrug, watching her. I wonder how long it will take me to get my shoes on and get out of here before something bad happens to me. Not that running away is all that good of a plan really. I am going to have to face her sooner or later if Weasley and I continue what we are doing. I suppose I might as well make my stand now, rather than later. Though what is my stand? That I am interested in boffing her daughter? I get the impression that that won't go over quite so well.

"I suppose that isn't too difficult to happen, seeing as you live just a block or two away from her," the woman replied, glancing about once more and frowning at her daughter's unmade bed. I almost laughed at the look; it was the same look that I had given it weeks ago. Though having the same thoughts as mother Weasley probably isn't a good thing.

But wait, how does she know where I live? Weasley standing in my doorway, looking completely lost drifted into my mind's eye. That was how she knew. Weasley must have had to explain her coming to my place rather than theirs. I wonder if she said it was because I was the closest of them all. The look on the woman's face said otherwise.

"If you look at it that way, I suppose it isn't," I said.

The Weasley pursed her lips then walked past me, picking up the clothes which littered the floor. She dropped them onto the bed, and began to fold them, as though it was something she did to keep her hands busy. She was still watching me, and I was beginning to feel a little nervous. Not that I would ever admit that to anyone. A Malfoy nervous over a Weasley? Ridiculous.

"You'll have your run for your money with her," she said finally. I turned to look at her. She was still folding clothes. It struck me then how odd of a situation this was. Here I am, standing in Weasley's bedroom of all places, watching her mother fold her clothes. If this isn't the stuff that nightmares are made of, then I don't know what is.

"What do you mean?" I asked with a frown.

"She doesn't like to stay attached to anyone for very long, Mister Malfoy," she said, shaking her head as she folded the last of the clothes. She picked up the pile and placed it on top of the dresser. Then she turned back to the bed and began to shake out the duvet, in a manner that screamed anger. I couldn't help but wonder if Weasley does this as well, clean while she's irritated. It was so completely opposite of my mother, yet so similar at the same time. I wonder what my mother would say if she heard me thinking like this.

"She picks out something that annoys her about a man," the woman continued, fluffing pillows now. "Over exaggerates it to epic proportions, and makes it into a personal attack against her." She paused, shaking her head. "Why, you should have heard the things she said about Harry. The boy could never be too possessive, the poor dear."

An image of Potter's hands wrapped around Weasley in her time of need his nose buried greedily in her hair, flashed through my mind. Not possessive my ass. If that's what he was like when they weren't an item, then I would hate to see him when they were. But obviously Mrs. Weasley is too infatuated with the boy to see past his bullshit. I'd always heard that she seemed to think she was Potter's replacement mother. Obviously the sentiments have not changed.

I felt something drop in my stomach as I thought that. Why would she ever settle for me, when her daughter could marry The Boy Who Lived to Save the World Twice? I mentally stopped at that. Why do I care what Weasley's mother thinks? It's not like she's Weasley herself. Or that she has any say in the matter. If Weasley wants to marry me then she will marry me.

I did not just think that.

"Why does no one in this woman's life have any faith in her?" I demanded before I even realised what I was saying and to whom. The elder Weasley stopped her fluffing and turned to look at me, surprise written all over her face. I opened my mouth to say more, though I had no idea what I would say, but it was at that moment that Weasley re-entered the room.

"The tea's ready," Weasley said, looking around. She began to frown, looking from the surprise that was dropping off of her mother's face, to the frown that was no longer mine. "Is there something wrong?" she asked, her voice beginning to sound worried.

"No," I told her before her mother could say anything. "But I need to get going. I have a practice to get to." I walked up to Ginny and placed as kiss on her lips. "I'll pick you up at six tomorrow."

I exited the room and retrieved my shoes, giving her beast a pat as I did so. He was sitting beside them, though I was happy to see that he had not taken up licking them in my absence. I put them on and was out the door before I could stop myself. I didn't want to hear her mother's reaction to what I had said. I shouldn't have said it, even though it is the truth. Perhaps the poor woman wouldn't be as unstable as she is if people took the time to make her think otherwise.

"Malfoy!" someone called to me from the end of the hall. I opened the door to the stairwell. "Draco!"

I stopped and turned around, only to find Weasley coming towards me, her face red with anger. I looked at her blankly, wondering what she was going to yell at me for first, telling her mother off, or kissing her in front of her.

"What did she say to you?" she asked, the anger slowly being replaced with concern. I blinked down on her. She was angry with her mother, not me?

"Nothing," I said, shaking my head, and letting the door to the stairwell swing shut.

"My mother is incapable of saying nothing when my life is concerned," she said, shaking her head. Then she sighed and wrapped her arms around my waist. I looked at her then slowly hugged her back, my eyes sliding shut. I think I could get used to this.

"I'm sorry," she said against my neck, then pulled back.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I said, leaning down and kissing her once more. This time she kissed me back, her hands still holding my waist.

"If you're late I'm leaving without you," she said, pulling away from me and taking a few steps backward. She smirked at me then headed back towards her door. I watched her go, my eyes fixed on the sway of her hips.

"Hey, Weasley!" I called after her, something occurring to me. "Don't forget to lock your door this time."

She smiled at me then disappeared back into her flat. I stared at the closed door, wondering how she makes it possible for me to say things I would never have dared to say before. Make me want to do things that I never would have considered in this lifetime if it wasn't for her influence.

I wonder what my life would be like if I had discovered her while I was still in school. Would I have discovered myself inside my father's shadow sooner? Would I still have fallen in love with architecture? Would Weasley still be the same woman she is today, or would it have changed her as well? Would she still be alive when I was done with her? Would the rest of the world?

"Hey," I said, my thoughts suddenly cut short as something ran into my shoulder. I stopped and looked around the street I was walking down, only to find an owl swooping around me. I frowned and shifted out of the way as it prepared to head butt me once more.

Holding out my arm it took perch, holding out one of its feet to which a letter was attached. A letter addressed to me. I untied it, and looked down on it. The owl looked at me for a moment then took flight once more, heading off to the west. I stared for a moment longer then opened it, wondering what could be so important that the sender felt that I had to be accosted on the street.

I pulled the missive out of the envelope, slipping my glasses on, and skimmed the quickly scrawled words across it. I felt my heart drop into my stomach.

Shoving the paper into my pocket I pulled out my wand and Apparated, feeling as though my world was suddenly falling away from me.

o-o-o

I opened my eyes, staring around my room. Light was coming in from my partially closed curtains, filling the room with enough light to show me what was what. I frowned, trying to pick out a reason for me to suddenly be awake. I don't usually wake up in the middle of the night without a cause. And since I hadn't been dreaming, it had to have been something external.

I glanced over at my wardrobe, which was still closed; then dropped my eyes down to my puppy, who was fast asleep in front of it. So it couldn't have been either of those reasons. I surveyed the room once more before dropping my head down onto my pillow once more. It had been nothing.

I let out a sigh, the horrors of my mother flowing back into my mind once more. Not only had she scared off Malfoy, but she had practically accused me of not wanting Harry at my show. Apparently he never got the invite that I had sent out for him, and she claimed that he thought that I didn't want him there. Somehow I get the feeling that my mother shifted his emotions round a bit, but the idea still bothers me. I owled Michael about a replacement ticket, so hopefully it will all be sorted out by tomorrow.

She also refused to tell me what she said to Malfoy to make him run like that. I mean sure, the guy is a Slytherin, but it must have been something really bad to make him react the way that he had. It had made me uneasy knowing that the two of them were in my room together, but I had been too stupid to do anything about it. Obviously I should have taken one of them with me.

She's just so irritating sometimes. Why can't she just leave my personal life alone? It's not like I try and nettle my way into her and dad's relationship. Couldn't she extend the same respect to me? What business is it of hers that I am seeing Malfoy? It's not like I need her permission. Oh, now will you listen to me? I sound like I'm fifteen again.

Something crashed to the ground outside of my door, and I sat bolt upright, my head swivelling to face that direction. I could hear my blood pounding in my ear, and my hand shook as it darted towards my nightstand for my wand. I held it out, pointed at the door, feeling my insides drop out.

He was back.

Sneazel stirred on the floor, but he didn't get up. I glanced over at him, to find him rolling over onto his back, feet drooping in the air. I felt my eyes widen. Did they do something to my puppy as well? Did they drug him before I went to sleep so that he wouldn't be able to help me? My free hand twisted in my sheets, as though trying to grasp reality and make myself wake up, but it didn't help.

Footsteps resounded through room on the other side of the door, getting closer and closer until they stopped just behind it. Then I watched with widening eyes, as the doorknob began to turn and the door began to open.

I opened my mouth, taking in a breath, my wand as steady as I could get it. They weren't going to get me this time. This time I was prepared. This time I would be the one scaring the shit out of them. This was my home, my ground, and I was going to be damned if they were going to be intimidating me here again. Attacking me here. Abusing me here.

The door swung, someone silhouetted by the light that I had left on in the kitchen. "Expel-"

"Weasley, it's just me," the person in my doorway said, taking a step into the room, then closing the door behind them.

I felt my heartbeat quicken, then everything clicked into place and I dropped my wand arm, though I didn't put it back right away.

"Malfoy? What are you doing here?" I asked, staring at him. He was dressed in the same clothes that he had been wearing when I had last seen him, but they looked rumpled and untidy. He took another step towards me and the bed, his movements oddly choppy.

"I couldn't sleep," he said, shaking his head, and clumsily running his hand through his hair.

"Maybe it would help if you weren't still dressed," I said before I could stop myself, but my eyes had fallen on his shoes, and really, who in their right mind can fall asleep with their shoes on?

He looked down on himself as though he had just noticed what he was wearing. "Oh, you're right," he said. Then, to my utter surprise, he began to undress before me. He didn't stop until he was only wearing his boxers, his pale skin glowing in the moonlight.

I stared at him, eyes widening, wondering what the hell was going on. I couldn't help but think that I was dreaming, but after pinching myself I realised that this was real. That Malfoy was undressing in my room and pulling the sheets back on my bed.

"What are you doing?" I demanded as he crawled under with me. I glared at him, but he just took me in his arms, pushed me back down against the mattress and climbed on top of me. "Malfoy!" He burrowed his face in the skin just bellow my collar bone, his legs working their way between mine. It was then that I smelt something that made my stomach drop. "You're drunk."

"Oh, very. Very, very," he murmured against my skin, his arms slowly snaking around me until they were under my shoulders, his fingers splayed against my shoulder blades. "I thought I would try what you do." He glanced up at me, his cheeks flushed and his hair falling into his eyes. "And I think I understand why you do it. Nothing seems too terrible. The pain goes away." I felt my stomach drop further.

"Malfoy, what happened?" I asked, bringing my hands up to grasp at his arms. I squeezed them when he didn't respond right away. "What's wrong?" Then something occurred to me. "Is Lady Malfoy alright?"

"Don't want to talk about it." He paused. "She's fine," he finally muttered, rubbing his face against my skin. His face was slightly stubbly, and a part of me wanted to revel in the sensation of it. "You're so soft, Ginny."

I stared at him, not knowing how to respond. Not only had he used my first name, but he didn't seem inclined to move. So I just lay there, wondering what the hell could have pushed him to take a page from my book. If not his mother, then what? I shifted slightly, suddenly very aware of how much weight was pressing down against me. It wasn't that he was too heavy, but his rips were digging into mine in an uncomfortable way.

"Are you going to lie here all night?" I asked him, looking down on his messy mop of hair.

"You better get used to it," he said, his fingers shifting against my shoulder blades. "When we start dating I am going to be on top of you every night."

I stared at him, once again finding my self incapable of responding. It was both thrilling and terrifying at the same time. However, this was not the time to contemplate the possibilities. Something was wrong. Something was so very wrong that it had driven Malfoy, of all people, drunk into my arms. I rubbed my hands against his warm skin. I opened my mouth to ask him again what was wrong, but a soft snore greeted my ears and I knew it was a lost cause: he had already passed out.

With a sigh I shifted my hands to his shoulders and dug my heels into the mattress. With a tired grunt I rolled, forcing him to move with me. Pulling the blanket up around us I pushed my fingers into his hair, brushing it away from his sleeping face. Somehow I knew that tomorrow all hell was going to break lose, but until then I buried my face against his skin and tried to ignore the ominous feeling, and the scent of smoke in his hair.

o-o-o

**Works Cited**

o- "You're the one who was standing in my three foot hula-hoop bubble." – I snapped this at my sister while I was trying to be witty a few years ago. I thought you might find my stupidity as amusing as I do. :p

o- "It's when you start answering your own questions that you need to start worrying." – My dad always tells me this when I catch him talking to himself. Not sure if I believe him...

o- "My right index finger comes to life and I name him Timmy?" – The Ape, before she defected, used to have this joke that her right finger was name Timmy. He was a very evil finger. I think my sister had one too, on her left hand, but I can't remember what his name was... I think it was Jimmy? Oh well.

o- "And hang dead rabbits around and call it art." – A woman here in Canada did this. She even toured the country with her dead rabbits, much to the distress of the general population. Still not sure what she was trying to say with them, but then, I haven't really looked into it. Perhaps one of you can enlighten me.

o- "Aren't these illegal within city limits?" – This is what they describe in Quidditch Through the Ages, though the book still claims that it is illegal to paly on a pitch that isn't made by the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Oops.

o- "He does feet too." – My mum said this to me after my own puppy had just spent several minutes licking my hand. I don't like it when he licks my feet though, because it makes me all squirmy. Not that I am ticklish or anything...

o- "Oh, very. Very, very" – This was from this horribly addictive sci-fi romance novel I read, Gabriel's Ghost. The guy gets drunk and say this. I thought it was cute so I put it in here too.

o-o-o

A/N: Ha. You get yet another cliffy! Mwa ha ha ha. Now I feel better. Anyhoo, if you think this is cruel, just wait until next chapter. Oh how you will hate me. And there is nothing you can do to me to make me change my plan. Ha! Hope you all had a good holiday season!

Many thanks to: Everybody who reviewed. As this site likes to do, they have once again forced me to stop doing something that I enjoy doing: thanking all you guys in this section of my story. I will be responding to reviews as I get the e-mails from now on. So if you make a point of signing in then I will try and make a point of responding.


	13. For Once in My Life

Title: Painting an Oyster

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one legged lesbian seagull hotmail com (Please add 3 underscores, one "at" sign, and a period)

A/N: Well, I had hoped to get this out for Easter, but I got guilted into going home so I didn't have the time. Bah. I am not going to apologise for taking so long to get this chapter out, because I have suddenly found myself a life beyond Harry Potter. I am quite enjoying it, though I still intend to finish this story and a few others before I am done, so don't worry. I hope you all had a good Easter. Happy reading.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not a thing. It's really quite sad.

**Painting an Oyster  
**

**Chapter 13**

**For Once in My Life**

o-o-o

Soundtrack: "For once in my Life" by Michael Buble. 

o-o-o

I woke up feeling like the world was all wrong. The entire time I had been asleep things had been burning, and try as I might, I couldn't get anyone to help me put out the flames. The effects of the alcohol were had worn off, since reality seemed to be slowly rearing its ugly head once more. The oblivion it had provided was sadly absent, and all that was left was a feeling of nausea and a desperate feeling that I had to run away. But where would I run to?

With a hiss I rolled over, encountering something soft and warm. I opened my eyes, but in the dim light I couldn't make anything out, nor did I care to. I didn't want to face reality yet, not if I could help it. So I gathered the warm soft thing into my arms, rubbed my face against it, then closed my eyes, willing myself back into a sleep where things weren't burning; where my world wasn't falling apart.

When I next opened my eyes there was sunlight filtering into the room. I frowned, not willing to move in case my nausea hadn't gone away since I last opened my eyes. There is nothing worse than feeling fine while you are lying down, then sitting up and realising that you are still feeling like shit.

I glanced around at the light in my room, and frowned. Why would I have opened the curtains before going to bed?

Then something else occurred to me, there was something soft in my arms. Soft and warm. I vaguely remembered gathering something soft and warm in my arms during the night, but I was sure that it had been a dream. Unless I am still dreaming? It would explain why there would be light in my room.

I shifted my eyes downward and was greeted by the sight of red. My cheek was resting against something red and soft. As my eyes traveled downward I realised that there was naked flesh underneath the red. I stared at it, fascinated by its softness and its presence in my arms. How did it get there?

Then something clicked in my head and reality, and with it my blotchy memory, came rushing back to me.

Weasley, Weasley's mother, the owl, the shop, the fire, the bar, and then Weasley again. Weasley naked in my arms. I jerked back in horror, my eyes flying wide as Weasley's sleepy eyes surveyed me in amusement. I felt my stomach drop.

"We didn't, did we?" I demanded. My voice was croaky, and it broke in the middle, as if I was a teenager again. I should have felt horrified at the thought, but there were more important things on my mind: like how the hell did I sleep with Weasley and not remember it?

She looked at me with twinkling eyes, and I could have sworn triumph flashed across them. Oh Merlin, it was really good, wasn't it? Well, of course it was good, but why can't I remember?

It took me a moment to realise that she was laughing. I frowned, not finding anything funny about it at all. I couldn't remember a damn thing! And she was laughing about it? What's wrong with this woman!

"I suppose that all depends on what you think we did," she said, still laughing as she rolled onto her back. Her hair fell away from her, revealing a black silky thing. It wasn't _the_ silky thing, but it was a silky thing nonetheless. Bloody hell, how many of those damn things does she own? And why the hell does she keep wearing them around me? But I suppose it being on means that nothing happened. "We didn't have tea, if that is what you are wondering."

She turned her head to look at me, a smirk on her lips. I scowled at her and her rosy cheeks. "Bloody hell, Weasley," I muttered, and rolled over onto my stomach and buried my face into one of her pillows. The damn thing smelt like her.

Who the hell wakes up and thinks that they forgot that they had sex with a Weasley? If it happens, no, when it happens, I am certainly going to remember it. And if I don't, well, perhaps she will finally be out of my head and I will be free of her. Why does that not sound as wonderful as it truly should?

The sheets beside me began to rustle, and a moment later I felt her fingers running through my hair. I almost started, but I managed to stop myself just in time. I didn't pull away, though I didn't lean into her touch either – though I wanted to.

"So, do you want to tell me what last night was about?" she asked after a few more moments. The sheets rustled again and her fingers left my hair. I looked up at her, wondering why she had stopped.

She sat beside me, legs crossed and arms pressed into her lap so nothing was exposed. I stared at her hands for a moment, wondering why there was no paint on them.

"Malfoy?" she asked after a moment. I dragged my eyes away from her hands and looked at her. There was worry all over her face, and I felt a pang of distress. I was the one that was making her feel that way.

Before I knew what I was doing I was up and out of the bed, walking towards her bathroom. I turned the light on and dropped my head near the sink, avoiding the mirror, and ran cold water. I splashed my face a few times, then watched the water swirl down the drain. I wonder how hard it would be to make my sudden reality swirl down the drain as well.

"You're wasting water," a voice said from the doorway. I looked up to see Weasley leaning against the doorframe. She had a towel in her hand, and when I turned off the water, she held it out to me.

I took it from her and buried my face in it. The towel smelt like her as well, though it wasn't as pungent as the pillow had been. Why is being around her making what happened seem less important? It was bloody well life ending!

I pulled my face away from the towel and looked around, my eyes suddenly assaulted by bright pink. I blinked. "Bloody hell, Weasley," I said, looking around. I dropped the towel onto the sink's edge. "What in Merlin's name happened to your bathroom?"

"They were a housewarming gift from my mother," she said, obviously referring to the excessive number of pink items around us. There was even a pink, rabbit shaped, tissue box cover, with matching toothbrush cups.

"And why haven't you destroyed it all yet?" I asked, feeling my fingers twitch for my wand. It was then that I remembered that it was still in my trouser pocket.

"You did meet my mother?" she asked me, her voice rich with disbelief. Well, when she puts it that way. She let out a sigh and turned away from me. "You can use my toothbrush if you like."

I looked up at her, feeling surprised, but she had already exited the room. I glanced back towards the sink, expecting to see a pink toothbrush as well, but all that was there was a blue one. I gingerly picked up the only non-pink object in the room, and stared at it.

No one has ever offered to let me use their toothbrush before. Not that I would have accepted the offer if they had. The thought of having someone else's mouth germs put into mine via an old, scraggly brush has never appealed. Even The Cheating Bitch's toothbrush had been off limits. Somehow, though, the thought of using Weasley's toothbrush isn't nearly as terrible as it should be. Funny that.

When I re-entered the bedroom, Weasley was seated on the bed once more, a housecoat around her shoulders. It was a different one from the one that had been torn, and I am pleased to tell you that it wasn't pink. I glanced at her face and felt my stomach drop. She looked like she was expecting the worst, and it was all my fault.

I never should have come here. It's not like she needs me Flooing in here in the middle of the night and making a ruckus. I must have scared her half to death. Though she had pulled her wand out and had been more than ready to use it, now that I think about it.

I paused to put my trousers back on before I sat down on edge of the bed.

"Malfoy?" she asked me, the bed shifting as she came across it. I felt her fingers brush against my bare back, and this time I couldn't help but shiver.

"They burnt it down," I said flatly, staring at the curtains that were half open. I could see through the sheers that it was a gloomy day outside. Somehow it felt right; sun wouldn't fit the mood.

"Burnt what down?" she asked me. The bed shifted again, and I could feel her heat radiating into me. "Who burnt what down?"

"They don't know," I said bitterly, remembering the way the flames had reflected in Potter's glasses. He had had the same mannerism as when he had told us the last time that he didn't know anything. Even after I sent those damn lenses skittering across the asphalt, he wouldn't tell me. That was when I had left. There had been nothing left anyways. Whoever had done it had made sure of that. "And if Potter did know, he didn't tell me."

"What does Harry have to do with any of this?" she asked me, the worry in her voice going up a notch. A small part of my brain hissed that she would of course be worried about Potter, but I shoved that thought away. She had come to me for help, after all, not him. That meant something, didn't it? Just like how I apparently came to her in my hour of need.

"He was there, with a group of Aurors," I said, shaking my head. "They wouldn't tell me why they were there either, just like the last time. I don't see why my bloody shop has anything to do with them."

I heard Ginny gasp, and then mentally stopped as I realised what I had just said. "They burnt down your shop?" she asked me, her voice barely above a whisper. "Was anything salvageable?"

"I had half a hope that there would be something, but that all went away when the roof collapsed," I said bitterly, feeling my lip twist at the memory. The sound of the wood cracking, and the rush of sparks it sent into the air. That was the image that had been in my dreams all night. The destruction of everything I have strived so hard to obtain. The destruction of something that I love.

Silence reigned for a moment, then Weasley wrapped her arms around me from behind. I couldn't bring myself to pull away from her, the warmth of her soothing everything in a way that it really shouldn't have. I should be suffering for the loss of my shop, but somehow her arms around me is putting thoughts into my head. Thoughts that maybe I can recover from this, that I can start again, and do it better this time round; that I have learnt what not to do, and what to do more of. My hand reached up and clasped both of hers.

"I'm so sorry, Draco," she said softly, then kissed the space between my shoulders. I felt my eyes slide shut. Somehow my name on her lips, even in this damned situation is intoxicating. Why can't I bring myself to want to escape this?

We slipped into silence when I failed to respond to her. Really, what could I say with all of this going through my head? Nothing sane is what. So I just sat there, with her arms around me, wondering what was going to happen next. It feels like my life is suddenly at a crossroads, which leads in several different directions. I could rebuild my shop, or I could simply buy a new building and move in. I could give up on architecture, or I could take it to another level and design my own buildings and employ others to make them for me, rather than be hired to design them for someone. I could move to somewhere where I am not as well known and try again, and see what inspiration strikes. Or I could just start again, here, in London, and keep this warm thing wrapped around me. I stopped at that.

I don't think I would be able to get much work done or gain much credibility for that matter, if I had a Weasley wrapped around my shoulders all day long. Though, I am a Malfoy and I am sure that I could make it a fashion statement if I really wanted to. Not that I want everyone walking around with Weasley attached to them. Will you listen to me? I sound loonier than Blaise's girl, and that's saying something. Perhaps shock is beginning to set in.

I yelped before I realised what was happening, coiling away from Weasley and her hands, which were pulling away from me, drifting across my skin as they went. I whipped around to glare at her, only to find her looking at me with a mixture of surprise and delight.

"I never would have thought it possible," she said, her voice bordering on gleeful. I stared warily back at her. I had made a mistake, a mistake that is obviously deadly around this woman. Her fingers began to curl as her smile spread. "Draco Malfoy is ticklish!"

"I am not," I growled, running my hand through my hair. I eyed her fingers wearily, then turned my attention back to her eyes. The grin that was on my lips tugged my attention away from everything that was wrong, and somehow made me pay attention only to her. It could have been because I was being accused of being ticklish, since few know and are still alive to tell the tale; or it could have just been the way her eyes sparkled in a way that should not have been in the least bit attractive.

"You are," she declared, her grin spreading. "And I'll prove it!"

There was a flurry of red, and the next thing I knew my back was pressed against the mattress, and her fingers were digging into my sides, and a shriek, which I am appalled to admit, came from my mouth, echoed through the room.

I should have seen it coming, and a little voice in my head said that I did. That I knew she was going to try and tickle me, and I let her do it. But that is ridiculous. Why would I want to be tickled? Simply because Weasley was doing the tickling?

"See you are!" she said, laughing as hard as I was being forced to laugh.

"No, I'm not!" I said, between my involuntary laughs. She was leaning over me, her hands ruthlessly attacking my sides with veteran-like strokes. I wonder how many of her brothers have suffered this fate. At the thought of being added to the same ranks as the overabundant Weasley population I grabbed her about the waist and flipped our positions.

I held her down, watching as her chest heaved in time with my own. She was grinning up at me like a maniac, and for some reason I felt like returning the smile, even though she had just tickled _me_, a Malfoy. If my father would have known that this was going to happen I think he would have killed me to save the family honour, because Merlin knows that I am running it into the dirt.

"If your laughter was any indication," she said breathlessly, running her hands along the parts of my legs that she could reach from our positions. "I would say that you are very ticklish." Then her grin turned a touch impish and she wiggled under me. "Not to mention all of your squirming."

"Oh no you don't," I growled, sitting up enough that the movements of her body couldn't distract me from my revenge. Though I must admit, her chest, with all its heaving, is doing a pretty good job of it.

She shrieked as I began to tickle her back, digging my fingers into the areas where people are usually most ticklish. I couldn't help but smirk when I discovered a few others as well. She squired under me, trying to get away, but I locked my knees around her hips, keeping her under me.

"What?" I asked, grinning despite myself. "You didn't think that you could tickle a Malfoy and get away with it, did you?"

"No fair!" she said shrilly between laughs. She had gotten her hands loose and was swatting at me. I had to shift my weight to try and avoid being hit in the nose. "You... you weight too much!" She let out another shriek of laughter then tried to roll over on her side. I attacked it with both hands. "Sneazel! Help!"

I glanced over at the dog, who, I realised, was lying in front of the wardrobe.

"Hmph," the dog let out, rolling onto its feet and slowly ambling away and out the door, which was standing ajar.

"You traitor!" she yelled after it, squirming under me some more until she was on her stomach, still laughing in shrieking ways that were both excessively amusing and enticing. "You've corrupted my puppy!" she shot at me, trying to pull her body out from under me.

"Now there's no one to help you, Weasley." I smirked down on her, putting more weight on my knees so that I was no longer resting on her. She wiggled out from under me, trying to get away. I grabbed her by the hips, the same ones that had shocked me so badly when they ended up in my grasp a few weeks ago, and flipped her over, pulling her back under me and began tickling her again.

"Malfoy, stop!" she said between laughs and gasps for air. Her face was nearly as red as her hair, her skin hot to the touch. Well, hotter than usual.

"What will I get if I do?" I drawled down at her, not stopping my movements. She glared up at me, letting out a shriek as I hit a sensitive spot. I attacked it ruthlessly. Her hands scrambled to stop my own, but it was no use.

"I won't kill you nearly as dead as I want you," she said, the gaps between the words filled with laughter, making her threat sound anything but threatening.

I looked down on her, suddenly realising something else. I don't just love her anger, but I love her laughter as well. The realisation didn't disturb me nearly as much as my first realisation about her anger. In fact, it almost seemed like a window had opened in my mind and the light was beginning to make everything else in there make sense. With this new light a bigger picture began to emerge, and it terrified me more than anything has in a long time: I could listen to her all day. I could be around her all day, and I would be more than happy for it. I could have her with me for the rest of my days, and it wouldn't bother me, it wouldn't disturb me.

I love Ginny Weasley.

I stopped moving, staring down at her in surprise. I am in love with Ginny Weasley. Ginny fucking Weasley. A member of the family my family has hated for centuries. The girl I hated above all others through school. The woman whose insanity knows no bounds. The woman I haven't been able to get out of my head for what feels like an eternity.

Then something else occurred to me – as if I had just found the pesky missing pieces of a jigsaw puzzle and now the rest of the puzzle was falling neatly into place – there is no escaping this woman, and from the moment she snarked at me for checking out her ass, there never was; and for some reason I suddenly have no desire to. I don't want to ever be apart from her ever again. What the hell has gone so wrong with me? How can I have fallen in love with _Weasley_?

While all this was running through my head, Weasley had squirmed her way out from under me, moving as far away from me as the bed would allow. Her breathing was still laboured, but there were giggly gasps in there as well. Her clothes were in absolute disarray, and so was her hair.

She is so different from anything I ever dreamed of liking, let alone loving. She is the exact opposite of everything I know, and yet, at the same time, she is everything I need to be completely me. The question shouldn't be what the hell has she done to me, it should by why the hell didn't I realise what she was earlier, before I mucked up my life as I have. But then, I don't think I would be able to appreciate her if I haven't been where I have been in my life.

"You are such a prat," she said, her chest sill heaving as she tried to suck more air into her lungs. She tugged at her clothes, trying to get them back into place.

I continued to stare at her, wondering if she felt the same way, if she ever could feel the same way – then I shook my head. She is what I want. She is what I need. And I'll be damned if she is the first thing that I ever wanted that I couldn't get.

"I am not," I said, bringing myself back to reality.

I grinned at her, reaching out towards her. She flinched away, but I still managed to snag her housecoat and tug it back up onto her shoulder. She relaxed slightly, though she still looked at me as though expecting me to attack at any moment. Well, at least I have figured a way to get back at her now. "I simply finished what _you_ started."

"It's not my fault you're ticklish," she said, her breathing slowly returning to normal, as mine was. I looked over at her again, only to find an odd glint in her eyes as she stared back at me, then she frowned. "Did you know that you have very interesting bed head?" she asked me, tugging at her clothes some more. "I noticed it when you were sick too, but I decided to be nice then and not mention it." She narrowed her eyes. "I no longer feel so inclined."

"That's it," I told her, and lunged at her. Tickling me is borderline, but to insult my hair as well? In the same day? Never.

She let out a shriek as I landed on top of her, knocking her back into the mattress once more. I grabbed her hands, which were pushing at my chest, and pinned them over her head and into the pillows. I then anchored her legs down and sat on her hips.

"Where do you get off insulting my hair?"

She snorted at me and titled her head back, looking at our hands. "Why is it that you always feel the need to keep me from touching you?" she asked, turning her gaze back to me. I tried to ignore how brown her eyes suddenly looked, but it was difficult for some reason.

"You're avoiding my question," I pointed out, noticing that my one foot was running along the skin of her leg. I didn't stop it. After all, if I am suddenly in love with her, and man does that sound weird, then I should be able to stroke her with my foot, right? Why does that sound so wrong?

"So are you," she shot back, a smile on her lips now.

I glared down on her, then with a sigh let my hands drift down her arms to go behind her shoulders. I got off of her and knelt beside her, and pulled her up against me. Her arms wrapped around my neck and I let myself close my eyes, absorbing her hug. Bloody hell, why a Weasley?

o-o-o

"Aren't you supposed to pick me up in a few hours, Malfoy?" I asked, turning my head to look at him lying beside me.

Once our tickle battle had been completed we ended up lazing in bed for the rest of the afternoon. Not that there had been much of the afternoon left. By the time Malfoy had woken up it was already two o'clock. I had managed to get most of my flat cleaned while I had been waiting for him to rejoin the living. I didn't know what else to do with myself really. I had been too antsy about hearing what had gone wrong, and I knew I couldn't wake him up either.

After all that time lazing about in bed though, I still can't think of any reason why someone would want to burn down his shop. I would have thought it was an accident, like the ventilation issue, but with Harry and the Aurors there, well, they wouldn't be there unless it was arson. Arson by someone high profile. I don't get why they would suddenly be going after Malfoy after he just got back on his feet. Unless they had been the ones to knock him off his feet to begin with, with the ventilation. It still doesn't explain why though, or who.

"I suppose I am," he said, looking down on his watch. He had himself propped up on a couple of my pillows, lazily tracing circles along my ribcage. He'd been at it for a while, and I couldn't bring myself to make him stop; his fingers felt so tingly through my slip.

He smirked at me and sat up, pulling his hands back to himself and swinging his legs off of the bed. He walked over to his clothes, which I had folded when I had been cleaning. He began to put them back on, keeping his back to me. I couldn't help but let my eyes wander over his body. Why does he have to look so damn edible?

"Doesn't mean that you actually have to go anywhere," I said, sitting up as well and pulling my housecoat back on. He tugged his shirt back into place and pocketed his wand before turning to look at me again. Any joviality that had been there before was gone now. I felt my spirits droop a bit as well. Here I thought my initiation of the tickle attack had helped him feel a bit better – and it did, I guess, for a while. Nothing lasts forever though, right?

"There are things that have to be done," he said, shaking his head as he came towards me. He stood before the bed and looked down on me for a moment, his face expressionless once more. I stared up at him, wondering how, out of all the people I have ever met in my lifetime, that he's the one standing here in this moment; that I don't want anyone else to be standing in his place. "I'll be back in time to get you though." A smirk broke across his lips then, and I watched as his eyes dropped away from my own for a moment. I felt my face heating up. "Don't get dressed until I get back."

"Excuse me?" I asked, feeling my eyes widen despite myself. I was used to his usual mannerism, but wasn't that a bit more forward than usual?

"You heard me," he said, his smirk spreading before he turned away from me and headed out of my bedroom. He walked directly towards my fireplace, then his steps faltered, his head swivelling about the room. I felt a smirk of my own tug at my lips.

"Just look at how much I can get done while you're passed out in my bed," I told him, forcing myself to stand up. I glanced down on my bed and briefly debated making it, but realised how stupid it would be to do so: I am just going to get back into it tonight.

"I'd say something," he said, his back still facing me, "But in the hopes of surviving this encounter I will keep it to myself."

"How very un-Malfoy of you," I said, moving forward and leaning against the door jamb. I grabbed the open ends of my housecoat and crossed my arms, holding it closed at the same time.

He glanced back at me, a glint in his eyes that made me want to take a step backwards. I held my ground though, and he simply shook his head. "Remember what I said."

"Of course," I replied, nodding my head. "I'll just sit around in my knickers, anxiously awaiting your return." I rolled my eyes. "Get out of here before I decide that I don't like the sound of your innuendos."

"That will only happen when Hell freezes over," he stated smugly, then threw Floo powder into the fireplace. Before I could retort he had disappeared into the flames. I frowned at them, watching as they faded back into nothingness.

Nothingness. That's all that is left of his shop, isn't it? I couldn't imagine what I would do if my makeshift studio went up in flames, if I lost everything. My work proves, if not just to myself but to others, that there are thoughts in my head. That I have the ability to do something other than just be the daughter of the Minister. My work shows that I thought and that I was here. It immortalises me in a way I suppose. I am sure that Malfoy is the same way, even if he doesn't think about it in the same way that I do. It's still the same emptiness though, to lose all of his work, all of his proof that he is more than just the son of a Death Eater.

It should have been his profession that made me realise he was different, shouldn't it? Architecture, like painting, is one of the three main forms of art. Since the renaissance architecture, painting, and sculpture have been the most highly regarded art forms. Malfoy being an architect should have triggered something in my brain, but it didn't. I was too distracted by his Malfoyness and my seemingly everlasting hate for him.

With a sigh I turned away from the fireplace and headed into the bathroom. If Malfoy wanted me to wait until he got back, then I will wait. I don't know why, but something about this entire ordeal makes we want to see what's going to happen. Though I refuse to wait around and find out in my panamas and unwashed hair. Not that I plan to be waiting around in the nude after I get out. I might not hate him anymore, but I am certainly not a wanton slut.

I wandered out of my room a little after, looking around. I half expected to see Malfoy sitting on my couch, lazily petting Sneazel's head, but neither of them was present. If Malfoy had come back I am sure he would have made a point of announcing his presence, even if he is still shaken up.

It's funny though, isn't it? When I was attacked a few weeks ago, I defended myself, and only after did I panic and cry like a ninny. When Malfoy lost his shop he went and got himself drunk. However, we both came to each other for help, didn't we? People are going to think that something is going on between us. They think that already though, don't they?

With a shake of my head I wandered over to the door and checked the lock, just in case. I know that Zach locked it when he left again, but now I feel a little paranoid. It still doesn't make sense to me that he would leave it open. He knows how shaken up I was about the whole ordeal, as I have told him in great detail what happened a couple of times now. Yet he leaves my door unlocked when I am feeling like shit and sleeping on the couch? Malfoy wandered in, what would have happened if it had been someone else though? No, I don't want to think about it.

I suppose I was being a bitch to him when he left. I mean, I had thrown my bra at him after all, so maybe it just slipped his mind in his irritation. But still, that's not like Zach, just like it wasn't like Zach to finally settle with a guy. I almost want to say that he's growing up, but his growing up should entail a greater sense of responsibility, shouldn't it? Not a lack thereof?

I headed over to Sneazel's food dish and picked it up, heading into the kitchen with it. I dumped some food into the bowl, then put stew overtop of it to give it some flavour. I always feed him my leftovers, though you would never know with the way he acts. So many people say that you shouldn't feed your dogs people food because it makes them beg, but the trick is that you never feed it to them when you are eating it yourself. If they never make the connection that you are eating what they like then they will never be the wiser.

The scratching of claws on hardwood echoed through my flat, and a moment later Sneazel was beside me, panting and looking hungry. I looked down on him while I mixed the stew into his food, and I couldn't help but scowl.

"I don't even know why I am giving you anything good right now," I told him, walking towards the mat that I put his food on – as far away from my paintings as it possibly can be. He tends to slobber a bit when he drinks.

I put the bowl on the ground for him and he didn't even glance at me as he tucked in. I frowned down on him, shaking my head.

"I mean, you couldn't even be bothered to help me when Malfoy was tickling me to death," I continued, despite the fact that he was ignoring me. "If you can't help me, then maybe you don't deserve anything good."

"It's not his fault that he's smitten with me," a voice said from behind me. I let out a startled gasp and spun about, hand pressing into my pounding chest.

"Would you stop doing that?" I demanded, shaking my head and trying to ignore the pounding in my ears.

"No," he said, stepping away from the fireplace, a large box in his hands. I glared at him, but he just smirked and continued to walk towards me as though he didn't have a care in the world.

You can only Floo into this place from three addresses, Zach's place, the Burrow, and for some reason I have yet to figure out, Malfoy's place. They had me change my Floo when they redid my security wards. Harry thought I was insane in letting Malfoy in here. I never thought he would use it though, but that's how he got in here last night. All rumpled and drunk.

Well, he wasn't rumpled or drunk now. I let my eyes travel from the box in his hands to the black, finely tailored robes that he was wearing. They were trimmed with an olive green that seemed to bring out the silver in his eyes. I stared at him and felt my stomach drop. How can he make himself look so good even after his world was thrown into chaos just last night? It doesn't seem fair.

"You actually listened to me," he said, his eyes travelling over my body. I glanced down on the slip I had put back on, then turned my attention back to him. He was looking at me like I had nothing on at all. I frowned at him and crossed my arms over my chest.

"No, I didn't," I lied, feeling irritation flare through me. I stepped away from my puppy and headed back towards my room, ignoring Malfoy's eyes as they followed me. "It just took me longer to feed Sneazel than I thought it would."

I walked into my room and pulled open my wardrobe, looking into it. I reached in there, pulling out the dress that I had planned to wear, ignoring Malfoy as he walked into the room and sat down on the bed. I glanced in the mirror on the door to find him watching me. For some reason the look in his eyes unnerved me and I looked away, moving towards my dresser with my dress.

"You can't wear that," he said, as I pulled my top drawer open and began to rummage around for a bra.

"Excuse me?" I asked, stilling my hand and looking up at him. He was smirking at me, and I couldn't help but scowl back at him. What is he now, my professional dresser? I didn't hire him for that. Actually, I never hired him for anything, he hired me. Man, that sounds dirty.

"I said you can't wear that," he said, nodding with his pointed chin towards the dress draped over my arm. I looked down on the black material, and scowled more.

"And why can't I?" I demanded, turning away from the dresser and putting my hands on my hips, the dress still in place. "And why do you have a say in what I wear?"

"I have a say in what you wear because I will be escorting you," he said, a smirk on his lips now. "And you can't wear that one, because you are going to wear what is in this box." He pointed to the large box he had had in his hands when he Flooed in.

"What if I don't want to wear what is in the box?" I asked, looking at the box. What kind of dress would he pick out for me? For some reason the image of something skimpy and sluty comes to mind. You know, the kind of dress that will make my mother have a heart attack. Maybe that is his plan, to kill my mother in revenge for what she put him through yesterday, whatever it had been.

"You'll want to wear it," he said, sounding so self assured that I felt I had to disagree with him on principle.

"How can you be so sure," I asked him, shifting my glare between him and the box. I must admit I want to see what it looks like. No one has bought me a dress in this fashion in a very long time. Not that the last time had been a dress worth remembering. All you need to know is frills and pink. Ich. Somehow I get the feeling that Malfoy, trying to kill my mother or not, would not put me in frills and pink.

"Do you want to make a bet of it?" he asked, his eyes getting an odd glint to them. I just stared at him until he continued, "If I'm right and you wear it I get to help you take it off when the night is done."

"And if I am right and I don't wear it?" I asked when he didn't say my side of the barter.

"Then you get to help me take off my clothes when the night is done." He smirked at me.

"Why is it that all of the wagers that you come up with end up with one of us taking the other's clothes off?" I asked, staring at him, my glare no longer in place. Well, it is a valid question and neither of us has done any undressing with the other, with the exception of Malfoy drunkenly stripping down to his boxers last night. Somehow I don't think that counts though.

"Because it's eventually got to happen if I keep betting on it," he said, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

Despite the fact that I had no idea what was in the box, or that Malfoy planned on getting at least one of us naked by the end of the night, I put the dress draped over my arm on the chair in the corner. I always wear black anyways, and as long as Malfoy didn't buy me something pink I don't suppose it could be that bad, could it? Unless it is missing the front, and the back, and perhaps the bottom as well. I don't want to look like a fool at my own opening.

"Do we have a deal then?" he asked me, offering his hand. I stared at it for a moment, remembering how he had set me back the last time we had shaken hands on a deal. I don't suppose he can unsettle me on my broom at the moment though, seeing as I am not on my broom to be unsettled off of.

With a nod of my head I shook his hand, firmly. He held on for a moment longer than he should have, but he let go and swept his hand over the box. I stared at him but he didn't say a word, just continued to stare at me with that damned smirk on his lips. I almost wanted to act horrified no matter what the dress looked like, just to try and get that damned thing off of his lips. I suppose that there would be other ways to get it off as well, but I do need to be getting ready if I want to be on time.

So with a short breath I took a step towards the box and lifted the lid. Tissue paper was in the way, but I could see something dark lying beneath it. I pulled the tissue out of the way and my plan to look horrified dashed out of my head as my eyes fell upon the dress.

"It's gorgeous," I said, more to myself than to Malfoy. And it was. An olive green of sorts, that shimmered in the light. The bodice was laced up, with lacy material underneath, and flowing over the top of the lacing. I reached out and carefully pulled it out of the box, the full length skirt dropping down to the floor, its lacy trim and high slit shimmering in the light.

I looked back at Malfoy, whose smirk was gone, replaced once again by the expressionless look. It wasn't until that moment that I noticed his hair was falling into his eyes; he hadn't slicked it back like the last time. I wonder if that has anything to do with my messing his hair up at his mother's birthday party. Now is not the time to wonder about that, however.

"I don't know what to say," I finally admitted, pulling my eyes away from his hair, and back down to the dress.

"You can say, 'Wow, you were right Malfoy, I do want to wear it. Thank you so much.'" His face became reanimated as he grinned at me. "'Now watch as I put it on.'"

I narrowed my eyes at him, then pointed towards the door. "Out," I said, looking at him and trying my hardest not to grin like the fool I felt like.

"You're no fun, Weasley," he said sourly, but he stood up as he said it.

"You get to see me take it off, so I don't know why you are whinging," I told him, placing the dress back down on the bed.

When I looked up Malfoy was staring at me, and before I could even blink he swooped down and covered my lips with his. My eyes were just sliding shut, so that I could appreciate the feel of his moist mouth on mine, when he pulled back, smirking once more.

"I know," he said, swatting at my rear and then proceeded to walk out of the room. I stared after him, watching as he closed the door without a glance in my direction. As soon as the door closed the dumb ass grin spread across my face, and for the life of me I couldn't get it to go away, even after I had finally gotten myself dressed and ready.

"You know Weasley," Malfoy called from the other room half hour later, "for someone who was worried about being late you sure take your sweet time."

I glanced at the closed door, then glanced at the clock on the dresser. We still had fifteen minutes or so, plenty of time to Apparate over and take a look around before the rest of the people arrived. I glanced at myself in the mirror once more, smoothing the material of the dress. I felt so out of place in it, but it fit beautifully, and if I spin the material spins out around me. That's how you know a good skirt of dress, if you can spin in it, and it flows nicely. Maybe I should wear the black dress after all though. I mean, it's my opening, I want to feel myself and my best, don't I?

"Weasley?" he called again, his voice sounding closer to the door, interrupting my thoughts. "You still alive in there?"

I took a breath and grabbed my purse and wand, then flicked the lights off and pulled the door open. Malfoy was standing on the other side, and he blinked at me when he saw me.

"As a matter of fact, I am," I told him, walking out of the room and looking around. Sneazel was asleep at the foot of the couch, where Malfoy had probably been sitting petting him while he waited. I glanced back at Malfoy but he had yet to move, an odd look on his face.

"Are you alright?" I asked, frowning at him, the following his eyes down to the dress. I glanced down self-consciously, wondering if I had stupidly put it on backwards or something. Nothing seemed wrong though. I felt my stomach clench with nervousness, and looked back to Malfoy again, wondering what was wrong with my appearance.

"You're trying to kill me, aren't you Weasley," he finally muttered, his eyes pulling away from my body to look at my face.

"Do I look alright?" I asked, feeling like a fool to ask him of all people that question. I know any answer that he gives me will be snarky and sarcastic, but it slipped out anyways.

"No," he said bluntly.

I glanced down on myself again, looking at the dress. I didn't think it looked that bad, a little awkward but not terrible. I knew I should have worn what I had originally planned on wearing. Confidence and attractiveness has to come from the inside, I probably just look like some sort of awkward and self-conscious olive, red thingy stuck in the top and all.

I was about to turn away when Malfoy pulled me into his arms, and dropped his lips onto mine once again. My eyes flew wide and I looked at him in surprise, causing two tears to roll out of my eyes despite myself. I pulled away and looked at him, wondering what the hell was going on. He opened his own eyes and looked at me, confusion replacing the desire that had been there moments before.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to it, "Weasley, you're crying?"

"No," I said, pulling away and dabbing at my eyes, trying to will the tears and the sudden embarrassment away. I turned away from him hoping that maybe that would help calm my nerves, but it didn't really. All I could think about was being in a horrid dress and that I might as well have a horridly messed up face to go with it. I knew I was being childish, but it still didn't stop me from feeling that way.

"But-" he began and cut off. Ah, so he realises why I suppose. I was about to head into my bedroom, and try to salvage what I could – because really, I have my opening to go to. I can't stand around and feel sorry for myself all night. I can do that when I get home. And probably by then I won't want to anymore anyways. That's just the way things go – when Malfoy grabbed me about the shoulders and spun me around. I looked up at him to find that he was scowling down on me.

"You look stunning," he said gruffly, dropping his hands to my waist and roughly pulling me closer. He kissed me then, and all I could do was hold on for dear life as he plundered my mouth. He pulled away suddenly and dropped his lips to my neck, kissing and biting his way down. "I made a mistake in buying you this dress," he continued, his lips skimming over my collar bone. "Because now other blokes are going to see what I have and want it too."

I blinked and stared down on him, belatedly realising that I had dropped both my purse and my wand. His words slowly filtered into my mind, clearing away my self-pitying thoughts and replacing them with the same dumbassed grinning thoughts that had been in there before. I am such an idiot.

"Who ever said that you have me," I said after a few moments, trying to collect my thoughts and turn my attention away from the feel of his lips against my skin.

"Are you saying that I don't?" he asked me, pulling himself up to look down on me. I couldn't help but reach up and push his hair out of his face.

"No," I said. But really, does he have me? I surely haven't given myself to him, I mean, he is Malfoy after all. But I haven't thought about another man since I reencountered him; I just can't get him out of my head. So in a way, I suppose he does have me, even if I was an unwilling participant in the giving.

"Well then," he asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked down on me.

"Well then nothing," I said, pulling out of his arms and away from the warmth of his body. "We should probably get going or we are going to be late."

"And that would be a tragedy," he drawled, and I shot my tongue out at him as I went back into my bedroom with the intentions of fixing my face.

"How many people are going to be attending this show?" Malfoy asked me about ten minutes later as we walked out the alley we had just Apparated into.

I had somehow managed to fix my face without too much work, all the while wondering if I had completely lost my mind. How is it that my thinking Malfoy doesn't like how I look in a dress can reduce me to tears? Tears! Me, the one who usually doesn't give a damn about what people think about me! He has driven me more insane than I have ever been before, and for some reason I am not turning and running for my life. For some reason I am sticking around and letting him think that I am his. Which raises another question, why would he want me to be his anyway? But then, there is a lot I just don't get anymore, as I have probably bored you all by telling you so much.

"I'm not quite sure," I admitted, reaching out and taking his arm. We approached the stairs of Michael's gallery and began to walk up them. There was no one milling about outside, with the exception of the doorman, who opened the door for us when we got to the top of the stairs. As the doors opened I could hear a great amount of noise coming from the inside. "Michael just told me to make a list of the people I wanted to invite, and he would do the rest."

I frowned as I realised that this was all sounding too good to be true. People don't usually go through this much trouble to help out an artist like me, especially one without a popular name, unless there is something in it for them, especially people like Michael. Why didn't I think about this before? And what is it that Michael thinks he can get out of this arrangement?

We entered the foyer, where there were a few well dressed people milling about. A man took our cloaks from us, and I continued to look around, the nervousness in my stomach returning, but for a different reason this time. What the hell have I gotten myself into? Who the hell dresses like we are dressed for an opening? Well, everyone that seems to be in this foyer, but that makes me wonder who Michael went and invited. My art doesn't suit these types of people. I know, because whenever my father has people over for a party, and they look at the two paintings my parents have in the ball room they give them the oddest looks. Of course they never say anything to my father, but their looks speak volumes. I never should have agreed to this. I never should have let Michael do this, and I certainly should not have let him chose the music. My work needs classic rock, not classical.

Pressure on my hands made me snap out of my rising panic, and I turned to see Malfoy smirking at me. "They're not going to kill you," he said, running his thumb over the back of my hand. "The worst they can do is tear your work apart."

"How comforting," I said, glancing away to the sign directly in front of us. "Funny how I can't escape my father's title, even when it is my own art in my own show," I said dryly, reading the sign that proclaimed me to be the daughter of the Minister, with paintings to intrigue. Great, now I'm a side show freak in some horrid political circus. I never should have agreed to this. I knew it was too good to be true.

"Come on," he said, and led me to the left, which was one of the two entrances into the actual gallery.

I heard the mass amount of people before I saw them, but it still didn't keep my mouth from dropping open as we entered the room. There were people everywhere, far more than I ever expected to see at a show of mine. They were all dressed in lavish clothing, looking at my art, or drinking, or chatting amiably to each other. I looked at their faces but could find no distain or dislike. All of them seemed to be enjoying themselves, despite the fact that it was my art on the walls.

I glanced at the works themselves. Michael had wanted thirty pieces, all of which were priced to sell to the highest bidder. I could see already that some had been bid on already. People actually bid on my work. Crazy.

"Oh dear," I breathed, looking around, trying to figure out how my father's crowd had ended up in my gallery, bidding on my work, and were somehow enjoying themselves.

Malfoy let go of my hand, and slipped his arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him. "It seems like your friend took it upon himself to invite the money to this party," he said into my ear, nodding to someone who was looking in our direction, then to someone else to our left. "Never thought I would see the day when a Wealsey could attract this much attention."

I swatted at his chest and pulled back slightly. "You forget who my father is," I said, knowing how hypocritical it was to say that I hate to be associated with my father and his title one minute, then rely on it the next.

"Your father's title has nothing to do with the people here," he said. When I looked up at him I found him looking deadly serious. I opened my mouth to ask what he meant by that, but never got the chance.

"Ginny!" someone called out from the crowd, and I turned away from Malfoy to find Luna pushing her way through the crowd. Blaise was following close behind her, seeming to fit perfectly in with the people around them, while Luna only managed to stand out like a scruffy sore thumb.

As soon as she got to me, she pulled me out of Malfoy's arm and into her own. "I told you people would like your work," she said, pulling back and gesturing at the people around us. "And they really do like it. I've been eavesdropping for you."

"And dragging me along for the ride," Blaise said, coming up behind her and clapping Malfoy on the back. "How's it going mate?" The expression on his face told me that he meant to ask about more than just Malfoy's current state. I glanced at Malfoy to find him looking rather relived at the sight of his friend.

"Things could be worse," Malfoy replied, and put his hand on the small of my back. I leant back into it slightly and smiled at my best friend and her boyfriend.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Ginny," Blaise said, taking my hand and kissing the back of it. "You look lovely." He grinned up at me through his curly hair, then glanced around. "Luna has always told me that you are good at what you do, though I never expected your work to be quite so unsettling. It doesn't seem to fit you."

I laughed and glanced at Luna, who was looking at Blaise with a misty smile. No one ever matches my style or content up with my personality. It's one of the more amusing parts of introducing someone new to the real me. "I'm not sure whether I should be flattered or insulted," I said, glancing around at the three of them.

"Knowing Blaise I would take it as an insult," Malfoy drawled, drawing circles in the small of my back. He was smirking at the both of us.

"Don't listen to a word of garbage that he speaks," Blaise responded, shooting a look at Malfoy, who had an odd quirk to his lips. "There's more to you than a lot of people give you credit for."

"She likes it that way," Luna said, nodding her head. I sent her a grin. She turned her wide eyes on me and frowned. "You didn't put the fairy picture up."

"Michael didn't think it fit with the rest of my work," I told her, wondering how she could remember to look for it. I had certainly forgotten about it. I shrugged and glanced around. "Have you seen anyone else around?"

"Colin was behind us," Luna replied, looking back towards the crowd. "But he had his camera and, well, you know how he gets when people look like this." I nodded my head. I had made sure that Michael would let Colin bring his camera in if he had wanted to. Apparently he had. "And I saw Neville and Dean somewhere near the stage before we saw you enter, so I'm not quite sure where either of them is now." I glanced towards the stage, but didn't see them either, only a handful of musicians playing something classical.

"And Zach," I asked. He had said that he was going to bring Simon. I can't say that I am not intrigued to finally meet the man, seeing as he has stolen my Zachypoo's heart. I wasn't sure that Zach would bring him, but I extended the invitation anyway.

"I don't think that he's here yet," Luna replied, her wide eyes drifting about the room. She glanced back at me and gave me a reassuring smile. "But I'm sure he will be here soon. You know how he likes to make an entrance."

I nodded, but couldn't help feeling a little disappointed. I was one of the first ones to arrive when Zach had his grand reopening last New Years. He had done some heavy renovations, and had decided to open with the New Year. So it would only make sense that he would be one of the first ones here too. That's not how Zach works though, is it?

"Ginny, what on earth are you wearing?" someone demanded from the right of me. We all turned to find Ron standing there, his mouth agape, the rest of my brothers and their wives standing a little behind him. They all had varying degrees of horror and approval on their faces, and I felt my stomach drop once more.

Malfoy's grip on my back increased and I realised yet another one of my mistakes: they were all here, and I am here with Malfoy. Heads are going to fly, aren't they?

"And why the hell is Malfoy here with you?" he continued to demand as his eyes slid from me to Malfoy behind me. "It wasn't a photo manipulation, was it? You've been seeing him on the sly for months!"

No I haven't! I wanted to shout, but Malfoy spoke before I could.

"It's good to see you again too, Weasel," Malfoy drawled from behind me. I felt a chill run down my spine at the tone of his voice. I glanced back at him to find him glaring at my brother as though both of them were still in school. Oh bloody hell. "Where's your boyfriend?"

Ron's face crumpled into rage, and I felt my own mouth fall open at that as well. I shot a glare at Malfoy then turned the glare on my brother as well. I should have known that the two of them wouldn't mix well, and I shouldn't have invited them both to the same event. At the same time though, this is my night, why should I have to worry about who comes and who doesn't? Shouldn't they all just get along for my sake? What is Ron going to do if I ever marry the git? Not that I have any intention of doing so, but still.

"Ron," I said, taking a step away from Malfoy and holding my arms wide. I wasn't quite sure why I did that, perhaps to keep Ron from charging and tackling Malfoy to the ground. "Please." I took another step forward. "Just ignore him and pretend that he's not here. This is my night, please don't ruin it for me. You can yell at me all you like tomorrow."

I implored Ron with my eyes, but he barely glanced at me. I could see his fists clenching and his face turning progressively redder. I was just about ready to pull my wand when the twins stepped forward and clapped him on the back.

"That's right Ronnikins," Fred said, patting Ron so hard that he stumbled forward slightly. George caught him.

"It is our little Ginny's night," George stated.

"And we all know that if you mess it up you will have hell to pay for the rest of your life," Fred continued, both twins nodding their head gravely.

"So put up with the ferret for now, and after tonight you can be your over-reactive self once more," George concluded. I began to sigh in relief, but then the lot of them all shot a glare at Malfoy and I knew that they were just biding their time. Only their fear of my wrath was keeping them from doing anything to Malfoy at the moment, but by him simply being here I had just condemned us both. I was now associated with a Malfoy, he was here in public with me; there is no more saying that the papers are just screwing with us. In short, we are both doomed as soon as this is all over. Why did I invite my brothers?

I didn't have any more time to think about it, because the twins had surged past Ron at that point and swept me up into hugs.

"Gee, sis," Fred said into my ear as he hugged me and pulled me away at arm's length. "Out of all the men you beat the crap out of to keep away, why did you have to choose the Royal Bouncing Ferret in the end?"

"Yeah, mum is going to lock you up when she finds out," George asked, standing right beside his twin.

"Actually, she found out yesterday, and I am still walking around," I informed them, though I didn't feel as confident as I sounded. With Ron and the rest of my brothers against the idea of me and Malfoy now, it's not going to take long before someone takes action against me. "And this isn't the end."

The rest of my brothers and their families came forward moments later, giving me hugs and praise on my work. My dress did not come back into discussion, though I was told that I looked lovely. Surprisingly no one said much more about Malfoy, but as I did the introductions to our group I could feel the tension rise.

"Well isn't this lovely," Luna said suddenly, looking around with her wide eyes and smiling. "Everyone standing about and looking pretty." She shot a look at me, and I couldn't help but grimace back at her. "Isn't it just something out of a painting?"

I frowned at her then glanced around. My brothers were scowling to different degrees, their spouses were smiling and talking amongst themselves, Malfoy and Blaise both had expressions of dislike on their face, and I was sure that I had a grimace in preparation for something horrible on my own face. The only one that was smiling was Luna. Then something occurred to me.

"Where's Harry?" I asked, looking around and realising that he was nowhere to be seen. He would be with Ron in a social situation like this. He never liked milling about large parties by himself. He would always find someone he knew and stick with them, being the social butterfly that he is.

"He's not coming," Ron said, his scowl turning on me. I frowned feeling my stomach drop. Did he decide not to come because he was the last to receive an invitation? Does he think that I really don't want him here? "He never got a ticket."

"But I told Michael to send him one last night, to replace the one that got lost in the mail," I said, frowning now. Did Michael not send him a new invitation? Or did the owl fail once more? Perhaps Michael needs to invest in some better owls.

"Either way he didn't get one," Ron said, shaking his head. "Besides, he said he had to work anyways."

Great, and now he's pouting while being mad at me. Stupid Harry always tries to lose himself in his work if he's miffed about something. There were times that he would never come home when he was mad at me, for some reason or another.

I glanced over at Malfoy to find him looking into the crowd, but when I followed his eyes I saw nothing but overly dressed people. I suppose he would know a lot more of these people than I would, wouldn't he, seeing as he was brought up in their world. I wonder what it was like, growing up as he had, always having more money than you could ever possibly spend, with no other siblings to fight with.

I glanced at my own siblings. They had broken themselves into groups, chatting amongst themselves, completely ignoring the people I have somehow come to associate myself with recently. Even Percy was chatting amiably. Could it be possible that he managed to get up on the right side of the bed this morning?

Someone took my hand and I turned to see Malfoy looking down on me. I smiled weakly back at him.

"Sorry," I said, glancing meaningfully over at my family. "I shouldn't have invited them."

"It's not like your mother would have let you to not invite them," Luna said, glancing over at them as well.

I nodded in agreement.

"It could be worse," Blaise said, exchanging a knowing glance with Malfoy. "You could have a family like mine. They don't even get along with each other."

"But at least they get along with me," Malfoy said grimly, rubbing his thumb across my knuckles.

"Yeah, I still don't understand that one," he replied, shaking his head in wonder and putting his arm around Luna's slight shoulders. "I can't wait to see how they respond to Luna."

"You better bring your wand," Malfoy told her, to which Luna just rolled her eyes.

I have never known Luna to be worried about going into any sort of social situation. She's the type of person that can go into a room and talk with whomever she please and never piss anyone off. They might think that she's a little odd at first, but she grows on you, in her crazy Luna way. I have no thought in my head that there is any way Blaise's family could not like Luna. Unless they are really screwed up. Looking at Blaise though, I don't see how they could be that terrible; he turned out alright.

Luna opened her mouth to say something, but never quite got a chance as a heavily accented voice suddenly called out my name. We all turned to find Michael standing there, a large smile plastered on his face. "There you are! I thought you would never show." I cut a glance at Malfoy then turned back to the curator.

"I would never do that to you," I said, shaking my head. Especially after all the work he did to get me this show.

"Of course you wouldn't," he said, reaching out and taking my hand. Before I knew what was happening he was tugging my arm and forcing me to walk with him. "There are a few people I would like you to meet."

I looked over my shoulder as I was pulled away, sending a look of apology at the people I was leaving. Luna waved, while Malfoy frowned after me, but Blaise clapped him on the back again, causing him to grin as I lost them in the crowd.

"Michael," I said as he led me through the crowds to the front of the room, to where the stage was. "Did you get my owl last night, about Harry's missing ticket?"

He glanced at me and nodded. "I did, and I sent him a new one first thing this morning." He looked around at the people. "I assume he is in here somewhere." I looked around as well, knowing that he wasn't, and feeling worried about it for some reason that I couldn't explain. I never got the chance to really analyse the feeling though, for at that moment Michael led me up to a group of men, who were wearing robes that cost more than my entire education.

"Gentlemen, I would like to introduce you to Ginny Weasley," he said. I smiled at the men and shook their clammy hands, thinking that this night just got a whole lot longer than it was before.

"It's good to see that some things never change," someone said beside me an hour later.

I had been right, it had seemed much longer than it actually had been. I was sure that it took the entire night, being dragged around here and there, introduced to the duke of this and the lord of that, and individuals from every corner of the world. In reality though, it was only an hour. Just goes to show you that the perception of time truly is relative. Oh well.

I had been told that my art was fascinating, disturbing, riveting, moving, and oddly enough, tasty. I had also been told, by various people, that they wanted my pieces for their collection. That they would be in touch. That they were intrigued. To say that I was overwhelmed by their responses is putting it lightly. So when I finally escaped Michael's grasp I b-lined for the drink table, hoping to find something stiff enough to sooth my nerves. Just to sooth them, nothing more. I have not felt the need to drown my sorrows in quite a while. Actually, I haven't even considered it since Malfoy stormed out on me that one evening.

"Pardon?" I asked, turning to look at a stunning woman with brown hair pilled on top pf her hair. She was shorter than me, dressed in something that I suspected was supposed to be a dress.

"He always used to make sure that my clothes matched his at these sorts of events as well," she said, taking a glass of Champaign off the table, looking at me through stunning blue eyes. I couldn't help but feel cold when I looked into them; it felt as though they were trying to suck the life out of me.

Her words seemed to click in my head and I felt the urge to look down on my dress, my stomach twisting with anxiety. What is she talking about? Match who? "I always wondered if it was his way of claiming me as his, or if it was just his neurotic need to make sure that everything was orderly."

"I'm sorry, but what are you talking about?" I asked, frowning at her, though I had a feeling I knew exactly what she was talking about and I didn't like it. Not one little bit.

"Obviously he didn't choose you for your brain," she added, rolling her eyes. I felt my lips tighten before I could stop myself. Who the hell does this woman think she is? I suppose the real question is is whether I want to truly find out. "I'm speaking about the man you walked in here with, Mister Malfoy." She smiled at me, and I couldn't help but think that she was like a feral dog, waiting for the kill. "Or didn't you know who he was."

I looked at her condescending smile and felt something in my mind snap. I hate when people look at me like that, and treat me like an idiot, especially when I have no idea who they are. I don't see the point in being mean to people, even when you feel that you have every right to be. What goes around comes around. And as I say this I know I am being hypocritical when it comes to how I treat Malfoy, but it's different with him; I knew him from school. I have never met this bint before though. Who the hell does she think she is talking to me like this? I haven't had someone react like this since Pansy, and now that I think about it, that was over Malfoy as well. Not that I am going to go into further details about that little mix up. All you need to know is that I won.

"Look, I don't know who are," I said, ignoring the flash of triumph that went across her face. "Or why you think that I would care about whatever you and Malfoy had going on before him and me."

"You truly don't know who I am?" she asked me, glee practically ringing through her voice. It was in that moment that I knew that I was about to find out something that I was going to regret hearing. I didn't know what it would be, but I just knew it would be bad. "You mean he never told you?"

"Told me what?" I asked, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice, though it was getting difficult.

"You're playing nicely with Miss. Weasley, aren't you Jocelyn?" someone asked, cutting off whatever response she was about to give me. I almost felt grateful that my ignorance was still in place, but when I turned to see who was coming towards us I felt my stomach drop. Charles Hudson, the sleazy architect who never failed to hit on me while getting the blueprints from my office, stepped up beside the woman. I watched as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, dropping a kiss onto her lips. He was barley as tall as her.

What would Malfoy's old partner be doing with such a horrid woman? And why would the aforementioned horrible woman have anything to do with me? I guess her talking about Malfoy would make more sense seeing who her man is, but why actually say anything to me? What is it to her? Is she still that upset that her boyfriend and Malfoy had a falling out in their business? Still doesn't make any sense as to why she would be a bitch to me.

"Of course I am," she told him, running her hand up his chest. It was then that I noticed the oversized rock on her finger. Somehow I am not surprised to think that the two of these people complete each other. He's sleazy and she seems to be anything but nice. "I was just about to tell her about how Draco and I used to-"

"There you are, We-Ginny," the man of our discussion suddenly said.

I looked up at him, wondering why he would try to use my first name in public, rather than the "Weasley" he had been about to say. He didn't look down on me though; he simply wrapped his arm around my waist and glared at the couple across from us. I felt a chill run through me as I realised something: he looked just like his father.

I blinked. He has never looked this much like his father before. He is obviously angry, but even when he was angry at me he never looked like his father, he still always looked like Malfoy, just the pissed off version. What did these two do to him to bring out the absolute worst in him? I am almost too scared to find out.

"I hear you had a little trouble with a fire last night, Draco. I'm sorry to hear that," the other architect said, though his expression said the exact opposite of his words.

"I'm sure you are," Malfoy replied, stiffening beside me. I glanced up at him again, but he still wouldn't look at me. I wanted to feel irritated that he was completely ignoring me, but something kept it from happening. Obviously something had happened between these two that had affected Malfoy far more than he was willing to discuss.

His grip on me shifted as he made to look down on his watch. "Oh, would you look at the time. Ginny and I really must be going."

"Of course you must," Charles replied, grinning like a shark. "We'll send you an owl when we set a date." He raised the woman's hand with the oversized rock, as though to show it off. Malfoy's grip on my waist increased until it was almost painful.

"It was good to see you again, Draco," the woman said in a syrupy voice.

"As usual, Jocelyn," Malfoy said, taking a step backwards, forcing me to move with him. "The pleasure was all yours."

He spun us about and walked us away from them, his grip never slacking from around my waist. We finally came to a pillar, out of sight of the couple, where we stopped. I looked up at him, only to find that his face had gone whiter than usual. I reached up to push his hair out of his eyes, but he pulled out of the way, releasing my waist as he did so. "Don't."

I stared up at him for a moment, taking in his pale state. What the hell did they do to get him, Malfoy, to react like this to a simple greeting and wedding announcement? Do I even want to know? Of course I do. Some perverse part of me wants to know just what it will take to actually get at a Malfoy like this. Merlin knows I was never able to affect him in the way that they have. Not that I still want to, but I must admit that I am curious.

"Malfoy, what was that all about?" I finally asked after a few minutes of silence had passed between us. He looked down on me, the colour slowly returning to his face.

"It was nothing," he replied, and for the first time ever I could read in his face that he was lying through his teeth. Not that I don't think that he has never lied to me before, because I know that he has, but I could never _tell_ when he was lying. I can now.

"It obviously wasn't nothing," I told him, dropping my hands onto my hips despite myself. "You addressed me as Ginny around them."

"And why shouldn't I?" he snapped back at me, surprising me with his sudden vehemence. He glared down on me, resembling Lucius more than he ever had before while glaring at me. I wanted to take a step back, no, I wanted to run, but I knew that I had started this and I would be damned if I were to be the first one to back out. "It is your name, isn't it?"

"I know that," I snapped back at him, feeling my face crumple into a frown before I could stop myself. "But you have never used it before in front of people you know, so why start with them?"

"A name's a name, Weasley," he said, his eyes narrowing. The Luciusness about him was increasing. It was the most surreal thing to see, for the entire time I knew I should be running, but something made me stay where I was, butting heads with him. It was either a very brave part of me that I didn't know I had, or the very stupid part of me. Somehow I am not going to bank on that first idea.

"Not in your world, Malfoy," I snapped back. "Names and titles mean everything to you!"

"So this is going to be the reason that you never commit to me?" he demanded, his eyes flashing. "That our family names are going to get in the way?"

I blinked, feeling as though he had suddenly punched me in the gut. Or rather, that my mother had just punched me in the gut, through him. She was the only one who I know who thinks that I have commitment issues. Or is the only one who has ever confessed to thinking so. Is that what she was telling him about when they had been alone, that I can't commit myself to anyone? Why would he believe her though? My mother only thinks she knows me, but she doesn't really, not when it comes to men. Malfoy knows better than that, doesn't he? The only reason I have commitment issues, as she puts it, is because the men that I have been with are absolute asses! I glared at him. How could he believe her?

"I can't believe that you just said that," I replied quietly, all the fight suddenly leaving me. Somewhere in my mind I thought that I should cry, but I told that feeling that now was certainly not the time. "And I would have thought that by now you would have figured out that I am committed to you, whether I like it or not."

"And that's why you thought I would abandon you because you thought that I thought you were insane?" he shot back at me, a sneer twisting at his lips. I looked at it and felt my blood run cold. How could I have read him so wrong?

"I never said that you were committed to me," I spat back, knowing that it was one of the most untrue statements to ever leave my mouth. He's the only man I know who would try and walk a drunken woman home when he hates her more than hell itself.

"That's right Weasley," he said, spitting my name out as if it was a curse. "Play the martyr. Turn this entire situation to be about you and only you." He glared at me then, and the part of me that wanted to cry before started without my consent. "It's a wonder that you have made it this far in life and are still able to claim that you have friends."

"Well, if that's the way you feel, then why don't you just shove off and let me wallow in my martyrdom," I snapped, feeling the tears coming and trying my hardest to keep them in. I just wanted him to leave so that he wouldn't see them, so that he wouldn't see how much I have let a Malfoy affect me.

"I will," he said, and with that he turned on his heel and stormed away into the crowd, which made way for him as though he was the devil himself.

I stared after him for a moment, wondering what had just happened. How the hell had I managed to fuck this over once more? And over what? Him not wanting to tell me what had happened between him and his old work partner? It's ridiculous. But it still didn't give him the right to attack me as he had. How could he side with my mother of all people? My mother!

I turned and began to make my way out of the building, intent on getting away from the claustrophobic amount of people. They seemed to be closing in on me, all over dressed and perfumed as they were. I couldn't breathe they were suddenly so close to me. Were they this close to me before? Why didn't I notice that I could barely move without bumping into someone or have someone bump into me? I hate being touched.

"Ginny," someone called from my right. I glanced over only to find Blaise making his way towards me, pushing his way through the crowd. I continued to walk, struggling against the sea of people, which was becoming blurry to my eyes. I just wanted air; all I wanted was some air. I would be fine if I could just get some air. "Ginny!"

I continued to ignore who ever it was until someone caught at my arm and began to pull me through the people. I was tempted to struggle, but as we moved the people got less and less until we were standing against the wall in an alcove, alone. I took in a deep gulping breath then another. I still couldn't breathe, and I couldn't see.

"You're a mess," Blaise told me, and I looked up at him to find him holding out a kerchief. I stared him for a moment before realising the reason I couldn't see was because I was crying. Again. Is that the only thing that I know how to do lately, cry? It's getting silly. And it's always about Malfoy. I felt something in my chest twist at the thought. Fuck.

I took the kerchief from him and dabbed at my eyes, still taking in great mouthfuls of air in an attempt to breathe. Blaise silently watched me for a moment, then shook his head.

"You can't let him leave like that," he said finally, glancing around before brushing my hair away from my face. I looked at him, my vision finally clearing, but my inability to breathe was still present. I must look like some ridiculous fish or something, gasping for water in the air.

"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice coming out as a hoarse whisper.

"I know he was being an ass," he said, and I nodded my head in agreement. He had been. He really had been. "But he needs you right now." I opened my mouth to disagree, but he continued before I could, "trust me, I'm his best mate, I know these things."

"Why do you think that he would need me?" I asked, frowning at him. He certainly hadn't acted like it. He hadn't even wanted me to touch him, now that I think back on it.

"Jocelyn was his fiancé."

I blinked, my mind suddenly eerily clear. My breathing returned to normal.

"What?" I asked, not sure if I had heard him correctly, and if I had, if I wanted to believe it. Why would he be engaged to that trollop? She wasn't his type, she wasn't even remotely interesting. She was self-serving and horrible. Why would he propose to her and not to me? Not that I want him to propose to me, but still, _her_? What could he have possibly seen in her? And why is this the first I have heard about it? "When?"

"Two years ago. And I know what you are thinking," Blaise said, drawing me back to the situation at hand. "I didn't understand the appeal either. She was the biggest bitch if you ask me, drop dead gorgeous, but there was nothing pretty about the way she acted. But he loved her."

"So why did she call off the wedding?" I asked, dabbing at my face a little. Realising that it was a lost cause I glanced down on the soiled kerchief and offered it back to Blaise.

He shook his head. "You need it more than I do," he said, then closed his eyes for a moment. "She didn't break it off, he did."

"Why?" I asked, frowning. Why would he break off an engagement with the woman he loves, even if she was as horrible a woman as that bint?

"Because he found her in their bed with his business partner, Charles Hudson," Blaise said, and I felt my eyes grow wide. No wonder he reacted the way he did, or even is the way he is. Why would he ever want to fall in love again if the person he had fallen in love with before had hurt him so badly? I think I would sleep around then too, just so that there would be no possibility that it could happen again. No wonder he stormed away from me. What have I done?

"But they're engaged," I said quietly, everything clicking into place in my mind.

"Exactly," Blaise said, nodding his head. I looked past him into the crowded room, trying to spot Malfoy. A flash of blonde caught my eye and I felt a thrill at thinking that he was still here, that he had come back. It all came crashing down though, as I realised that it was just Lady Malfoy, dragging Snape along with her once more. He couldn't have actually left, could he?

"I need to go find him," I told Blaise resolutely.

I didn't wait for his response. I didn't wait for anything; I just left. You how they say you don't realise what you have until you lose it? Well, I don't intend to lose what I have all over a misunderstanding. I am not the bint that broke his heart, and I am not going to let him walk away thinking that I am.

o-o-o

"Fuck," I swore, shoving my way out of the building and down onto the street. I stormed my way towards the alleyway which we had Apparated into a few hours earlier. Giggling greeted my ears as I entered and I realised that there was already someone in there. I didn't want to have to deal with anyone at the moment. "Fuck," I swore again and retraced my steps, finally slumping down onto a bench in front a building.

I can't believe that that all just happened. I can't believe what I said. Of course Weasley blew up at me, I would blow up at me too. I'll be surprised if she will have anything to do with me again. And it's all bloody Jocelyn's fault. How is it that that woman can keep ruining my life? Wasn't once enough? Or does she have to make sure I am miserable for the rest of my days?

What did I ever do to her to deserve this? Any of this? I never denied her anything, I gave her everything that she could possibly need or want, yet it wasn't enough. She still ran off with the one person that I trusted most in my life. The one person that I never should have trusted to begin with, obviously.

I dropped my head against the back of the bench and let out a hiss of frustration. Why am I such an idiot? This isn't Jocelyn's fault, or Charles. This is my fault. I'm the one who wanted them to see that I had moved on and was with Weasley. I'm the one who couldn't tell Weasley the truth about what had happened, and then turned the situation against her. I'm the one who left. And for what? To prove a point? That yes, my life is shit, and now I am going to run off and wallow in it?

Bloody hell! I am a Malfoy! Malfoys do not wallow in self-pity over what has happened to them! We take control of the situation and get what we want! And if I have an issue with Jocelyn, then I should be happy in knowing that she is going to marry a man who will never be faithful to her, like I would have been. If I have issues with Charles and everything he has done, then I should get back at him not by hating him, but by beating him at his own game and becoming more successful with my designs than he will ever be. He always needed me, and I was doing fine before he came along.

I have been deluding myself in thinking that I can't do it on my own. I need to do what needs to be done, because I can do it, regardless of what anyone has said. And if I bloody well love Weasley, then I am bloody well going to find her and explain what is what. She will be mine because she is the only thing in my life that makes any sense, in a nonsensical way of course.

I snapped my eyes back open and stood up, running my hand through my hair. I am a bloody Malfoy and I refuse to just sit in the sidelines and watch my life go by. It's about bloody time that I take my life back into my own hands, and stop letting the world lead me about.

With this in mind I walked back towards the gallery. It doesn't make any sense to me that I would want a Weasley, after everything that has happened in my life, but I do. After all the time that I have put into getting to know her, I don't want to lose it all just because I was being an idiot and refused to take her head on.

I walked back into the gallery, once again startled by the gross amount of people around us. I had no idea that Weasley's art could possibly attract the people that she had. I happen to know for a fact that about half of the people here have no interest in art whatsoever, only political gain. The question is, what do they think that they can gain from attending the Minster's daughter's art show.

"Malfoy," someone called to my left, as I proceeded to walk through the crowd, looking for Ginny. I turned to find the Minister walking towards me, a frown on his face. For an instant I wondered if Ginny had ran to him and told him about what a horrible person I had become, but I knew an instant later that that was absurd. She wouldn't run to her parents, certainly not about me. She would go to Luna, or to her non-boyfriend.

I stopped and watched the man approach. I wonder what my father would say if he had been alive to see a Weasley in office. I have a feeling it would not have been pretty. It probably would have been a milder reaction than the one to finding out that his son was in love with the daughter of the very same man.

"Minister," I said, shaking his hand as he stopped in front of me. We had somehow come to stand right in front of the stage. The stage was empty, the band having left for a break or something along those lines. "What can I do for you?"

"I hear that you are dating my daughter," he replied, his expression stony. I stared back at him. So she didn't go running to him, but obviously his wife had. Somehow facing down her army of brothers didn't seem quite as intimidating as facing down this one man. He could have me kicked out of the Wizarding world if he wanted, but that type of power wasn't what had me on edge. This was Weasley's father, a person that was responsible for bringing her up to be the way she is. There is obviously something of him in her, and the terrifying part is wondering which aspect he influenced, and has more completely in himself.

"I am," I said, nodding my head. Well, there is no point in denying it, even if it has only been two dates.

He stared stonily at me for a moment, and I wondered how my father could ever have thought that this man was soft. Sure, he didn't have the Malfoy edge, but he had something else entirely, something that made it possible for him to take the crumbling Wizarding world and pull it back together into something greater. He opened his mouth to speak, when everything around me went back.

"What the?" I heard his voice say through the darkness, over the screams of the startled people around us.

I looked around but I couldn't see anything but blackness. I reached for my wand and several bangs sounded through the darkness, and people began to scream in fear. The only thought in my mind was where was Ginny and if she was safe. Something occurred to me then, something terrible. These were Death Eater tactics, and with the crowd here tonight, it would be a perfect place to hit. Weasley's sudden grip on my shoulder told me that he was thinking along the same lines. But the Death Eaters are no more, aren't they?

The lights blinked on, and people continued to scream, as the new situation greeted their eyes. On the stage, and guarding every exit, were men armed with wands and Muggle guns. I glanced at the Minister to see him frowning as he looked about, assessing the situation. His eyes finally settled on something on the stage. I looked up to find a mousy looking fellow dressed in an Armani suit, flanked by a few other wand bearing wizards.

"Everybody remain calm and nobody will get hurt," he called out to the crowd. This statement only elicited more screaming, and I glanced about, trying to find Ginny. I didn't see a flash of her blood red hair anywhere. Maybe she got out before this all started. Maybe she went home.

"Where is the Minister?" the man asked from the stage, looking around and stepping away from his entourage. Weasley removed his hand from my shoulder and stepped towards the stage. I shook my head at him, but he ignored me.

"I'm right here," he called, drawing their attention to him. Without thinking about it, I step in beside him, my wand tucked out of sight at my side. My father must be rolling in his grave right now. Several times.

"Good," the man trilled, looking genuinely happy. "I was hoping that it wouldn't be that difficult to get you to the stage. You've already made my night this much easier." He walked causally towards us, as if nothing was amiss with this situation.

"Now listen closely, because I am only going to say this once," he informed Weasley, moving his hands as he spoke. "We of the PMDWW are asking you to step down from government, and allow our party to take power," the man said, glancing now at the crowd in the room. "And that all members of high society, such as yourselves, will support our party and allow us to correct the problems within our corrupt system. After we feel that this has been completed, and failsafe to protect our people's democratic rights have been put in place, we will hold a general election, and which ever party that the people vote in will rule from now on. No more of _your_ tyranny, Mister Weasley."

I glanced at Weasley, only to find him looking calm, with the exception of his beet red face. "Who the hell are you and why do you think that I will possibly listen to your demands?" he asked, calmly as ever. No wonder this man has held onto power for so long. If only Fudge had been this strong when faced with a situation like this.

"I am Simon Williams," the man replied, once again addressing everyone present. "And I have your daughter, the woman who painted all these wonderfully disturbing paintings, in my possession." I felt my blood run cold. "And we will be giving you one of her talented little fingers for every hour that you do not agree to our terms."

Williams glanced down on his watch as people in the crowd let out shouts of horror. I grabbed onto Weasley's arm as he moved towards the stage, even though I wanted to tear up there myself. That wouldn't help Ginny. I didn't know what would, but I knew that wouldn't for sure.

"Time's ticking."

o-o-o

**Works Cited**

o- "An olive green of sorts, that shimmered in the light. The bodice was laced up, with lacy material underneath, and flowing over the top of the lacing" – as if I could come up with that. Stolen twice from Versace, as you can see in my drawing here: www. deviantart. com/ view/ 21454404/ - If only they had actually had time to dance...

o-o-o

A/N: So, who saw that ending coming? I did. Anyhoo, for those of you who complained about the ending on my last chapter, I hope you get a kick out of this one. Thanks to everyone who reviewed! ;p


	14. Revolution

Title: Painting an Oyster

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one legged lesbian seagull hotmail com (Please add 3 underscores, one "at" sign, and a period)

A/N: Well, obviously finishing this story before Christmas didn't happen. It's funny, I thought I had outgrown this story, but after New Years I had this odd urge to reread it, and I realised that this story was waiting for _me_ to catch up to _it_. I'm actually a little embarrassed by how much this story exposes me to the world. It's funny, I've spent the past year trying to figure myself out, but it was all here, in this story – everything – just waiting for me to reread it and realise that really I have known all along.

Anyhoo, not that many of you will care about that. All you need to know is that yes, I did finish this chapter!! Yay! Now you can all stop yelling at me about the cliff hanger! And I promise that this one's ending does not have one. Well, not really. ... How about I just let you get to reading...

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Really, I don't. Not even my soul anymore. It was stolen from me, lost in the mail, tossed into a ditch, and is now hiding behind the boxes in my Ex's house down in Cowtown – 300km away. Pity me.

**Painting an Oyster**

**  
Chapter 14**

**Revolution**

o-o-o

Soundtrack: "Revolution" by The Beatles

o-o-o

I woke up feeling stiff and uncomfortable. I momentarily wondered if I had fallen out of my bed and was now sleeping on the floor, but I kicked the thought out of my head. If I had fallen out of bed I would have woken up, at which point I would have crawled back into bed. So I simply decided to roll over and cover my head with the blanket. I know blankets don't help to get rid of stiffness or being uncomfortable, all too well actually, but there's something comforting about them nonetheless. But I couldn't roll over, because I wasn't in my bed, nor was I on the floor, I was sitting in a chair, a very hard and uncomfortable chair.

My eyes snapped open.

"Boss, she's awake," someone called to my left, and I turned my head to see a squirrelly looking man perched on the armrest of a couch. I glanced around the room, blinking when I realised where I was: Michael's office. Trying to shift my limbs to get more comfortable, I realised that I couldn't move either. I was tied to a hard and uncomfortable chair in Michael's office.

What the hell is going on?

"Good," said Michael's smooth German accent. I turned to look at him, only to see him standing before the large window which overlooked his gallery. It was one of those windows bewitched to look like a wall, so that no one would have any idea that someone was watching them. However, from this side it was like looking through clear glass, as if nothing was bewitching it at all. I couldn't see what was happening below, but I could tell that the music had stopped. Not that that was necessarily a bad thing – it didn't go with my work anyways. And I think I can almost hear talking, though I'm not sure what is being said.

"What's going on?" I asked, pulling on my ropes and looking around once more. The three of us were the only ones in the room, and I could see nothing that would help me get out of the chair. I spotted my purse on the large desk to the right of the room but I couldn't see my wand. I squirmed, trying to see if my wand was still tucked away in the bodice of my dress. I could just feel it shift against my skin. Well, at least one thing's right about all of this. Now if only I could get it into my hands then I could hex this two-timing bastard, which is what he seems to be, but I can't fathom why. I knew all of this was too good to be true, I just knew it. Bloody hell.

"Nothing that you can do anything about at the moment, Ginny my dear," Michael said, not turning away from the window. "All you have to do is sit back and let things take their course."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I demanded, craning my neck and trying to see out to the gallery bellow. I was getting a very bad feeling about all of this.

"Just listen dear," he said, his tone patronising. I felt my jaw clench. "And all will be explained." With this he pressed a button beside the window, and the voices I thought I heard, became as clear as though whoever was speaking down there was right in front of me.

"-feel that this has been completed, and fail-safes, to protect our people's democratic rights, have been put in place, we will hold a general election, and which ever party that the people vote in will rule from now on. No more of _your_ tyranny, Mister Weasley."

I felt my heart stop and I found myself looking at the window so hard, as though by sheer force I could will myself to see through the wall and to the events bellow.

This cannot be happening.

"Who the hell are you and why do you think that I will possibly listen to your demands?" my father responded calmly. Well, he would have sounded calm to anyone but his family. I could tell that he was beyond the point of anger, and I could just see his face reddening by the minute. Is this all some sort of setup to get at my father?

I glanced at Michael, but he was still looking out the window. What would he want with my father? This doesn't make sense.

"I am Simon Williams," the man replied. "And I have your daughter, the woman who painted all these wonderfully disturbing paintings, in my possession. And we will be giving you one of her talented little fingers for every hour that you do not agree to our terms."

The screams of horror from bellow were drowned out by the ringing in my head. I looked dumbly down on my fingers. I knew I shouldn't think it, that the man was probably just saying it to scare my father into doing what they wanted him to, but I had to wonder which one would they take from me first? Wonder how I could continue to paint if I didn't have my fingers? How could I continue to exist? I shuddered, feeling my eyes go wide. I can't survive this if they take my fingers. I need them!

With a shaky breath I shoved the thoughts out of my head. It won't help to dwell on that. I can't distract myself with the thoughts about it. I need to figure out a way out of here so I can help my father. Yet, ever since I was a little girl I've been terrified of the thought of loosing a limb – funny how the thought of losing a finger, such a simple little thing, could be my undoing.

The man's laughing cut through the air, and something else filtered into my brain, something that the man had said. A wave of horrid realisation washed over me, and I wasn't quite sure if I wanted to confirm any of it. Yet, I had to ask regardless of whether I wanted to or not.

"Simon Williams?" I demanded, jerking my head up to look at Michael. He continued to keep his back to me. "As in Zach's boyfriend?"

That would explain why Zach would leave my door open, or why Sneazel would hate him so much: he's in league with terrorists! How could I have been so stupid? I probably played right into his hands too, stumbling across him when I did, then allowing him to befriend me and feed me the idea that he could protect me. Then my roommate moves away to Canada of all places, and there is a conveniently cheap and empty flat to rent just down the hall from my dear Zachypoo's own place of residence. How could I have been so stupid? I feel sick.

"I have no idea whose boyfriend he is, nor do I care," Michael said, finally turning away from the window to look at me. His face was the coldest I have ever seen it, and it sent a chill through my spine. "All I care about is that he remains as idealistic as he is, so that he can topple your father's government."

"Why would you want that to happen?" I asked, frowning, trying to come to terms with what was all suddenly being thrown at me.

"There's profit to be had in chaos, Ginny dear," he replied as smoothly as though he was talking about the weather.

"But why use my show as a platform for your coupe?" I asked, still frowning.

"What better way to get Minister Weasley here, along with all those who want to be in his good favour, than to showcase his darling daughter's disturbing and twisted work?" he asked me, smirking. People began to scream again for some reason, but Michael reached out and pressed the button once again, and the screams receded back to a dull roar. It felt as though I had just been cut off from the world.

Cut.

I glanced down on my fingers once more, the thought of their absence flooding my mind.

Michael wouldn't do that, would he? He couldn't stand the blood. I glanced at the squirrelly man, only to find him fingering a switchblade. I felt the blood leave my face. I looked over to Michael again. Perhaps I could distract him until help came.

"But why are you working with an idealist, if you don't agree with what he believes in?" I asked, trying to think of something, anything, to get him talking.

"Because he is stupid enough to think that he is doing the right thing," Michael said, walking over to his desk and leaning against it. He looked at me, the smirk no longer on his face. "Do you know how easy it is to manipulate people who think that they are doing the right thing? He was like putty in my hands, especially after I gave him enough money to fund his little party." He paused. "Anonymously of course. The most brilliant part of my plan is that the idiot will have no idea that he is being strung along until he is arrested and tried for treason."

"But who will try him if you plan to be head of the government?" I asked, frowning.

"Why Ginny dear," Michael said, shaking his head. "I have no intention of being head of the government. There's no profit in being a figure head." He paused, looking at me. "No, the brilliance of all this, is that this will start a civil war. Do you know how much money is to be had in rebuilding after the animals have torn their world apart? It's one thing that I will give Muggles credit for trying to capitalise on."

I couldn't quite come to terms with what I was hearing. Another war? After our world was finally starting to be pieced back together after the last one? After the open wounds of those mourning lost loved ones were finally starting to heal? He wanted to start it all over again, just so that he could turn a profit?

"How many people are going to die just so that you can make some money?" I demanded, feeling anger begin to bubble inside of me. I had lost people in the last war. I knew too many people that had lost people as well. I didn't want to loose any more. I didn't want anyone else to ever have to feel the pain of it, especially if it all began because someone thought that they could make some money.

"What do I care about that?" Michael asked, turning away from me once more to look out the window. "Money speaks louder than life."

I stared at him. How could I have been so fooled by this man? How could I have thought that he was my friend? But then, it seems like I have let a lot of people fool me these days. Zach, of all people. He's in on this somehow and I never saw it coming. Who else could I have let close to me who could be in on this scheme? Luna? Blaise? Draco??

I stopped. No, Draco wouldn't do that to me. Not after everything. If he had wanted to help Michael he had more than ample opportunity to do so. He could have killed me or injured me a hundred times over in the past few months. Yet, that wouldn't have started a civil war, would it have? It wouldn't have allowed Michael to make his profit. Merlin, what if I've fallen in love with someone who is just as evil as the man standing before me? How could I ever have thought that a Slytherin and a Malfoy could change to be something good? How could I have been so stupid?

"It's time, boss," the squirrelly man said, speaking for the first time since I woke up. He had a very deep voice for someone so spry and weak looking.

Michael looked down on his watch. "You're twenty minutes early, but I suppose you'll have to clean up, won't you." He paused. "I don't think the Minister's going to budge until he has proof that he is serious anyway." He glanced back at me casually. "Just make sure you silence her first. I have no desire to get a headache before the fun truly begins."

The man nodded, putting his switchblade down so that he could pull out his wand. He pointed it at me, and my eyes widened as I realised what was about to happen. They were actually going to do it. And not only that, they were going to do it early! One of my fingers, my beautiful fingers, was about to be taken away from me.

"No!" I said desperately before I could stop myself. "Michael, you don't have to do this! You could just give them a fake finger or something. You don't really need my fingers to do this!"

"No, they need to be real," he said casually, speaking towards the window. "And really, it doesn't matter in the long run. Once all this is said and done you won't be in a world where your paintings will be worth anything." He paused and then sent me a malicious look that sent a chill down my spine. It was the kind of look that Bellatrix wore; pure and calculated evil. "Not that they are much of anything anyways. I'm surprised that you have made any sales at all."

I opened my mouth to retort angrily, but the squirrelly man waved his wand and silenced me. My thoughts of defending my work fled as I looked at him, suddenly being thrown back into the realisation that those horrible fears of loosing limbs had suddenly become reality.

He too a step towards me, knife at the ready, and I began to scream and twist, desperately trying to get away. I wasn't even worried about the pain. All I could think was that I couldn't loose one of my fingers. I couldn't carry on without them. I just couldn't.

The squirrelly man grinned down on me. "I love it when girls squirm like that," he said, a greasy grin on his face. I didn't let his words sink in. I needed to get away – but nothing was working. I couldn't move. I couldn't scream. I couldn't get away.

I couldn't get away.

I stopped moving and looked up at him. He grinned down on me. Then I let out a shriek of surprise.

o-o-o

I never should have left, I realised as I stared up at the stage. I shouldn't have acted like a selfish git and stormed off as I had. There was no way for Weasley to know what had been going on between me and Charles. It wasn't as if I ever made it public information, but now I wish that I had. If I hadn't held my pride in such high regard Weasley never would have had a reason to be left alone. I would have stayed by her side and all of this never would have happened. They couldn't have gotten to her if I had been there.

But I hadn't been.

"I will need to talk to my people," Weasley said from beside me after a moment, his face still red and hard. He glanced at me, and I knew that it was all just for show.

A part of me, the part that was still in league with my father, wanted to sneer that it wouldn't matter if he lost one kid, seeing as he had so many of them. Yet, this was his only daughter, wasn't it? The boys were abundant, but Weasley was the only girl in the family. And I couldn't even think of saying something like that now, not that I myself am in love with her. That still sounds weird to me, saying that I love her – but I do. And it's my fault she's in this situation.

I glanced around. Every exit was closed and secured by a guard of some sort. They all were dressed in expensive suits, and I realised that they had probably been milling about all night, waiting for their moment to act. They didn't offer any chance to sneak out unnoticed, so I couldn't go and save Weasley. I narrowed my eyes and looked up at the man on the stage. Perhaps, however, I could buy her some time.

"What makes you think that you can offer our people a more democratic system than the Minister?" I called up to the stage, cutting the man's reply off. He turned his attention away from Weasley to me.

"Malfoy," Weasley said under his breath, sending me a warning look. I ignored it. Just because he is the Minister doesn't mean that I have to listen to him right now, he's still a Weasley after all. And I have my own Weasley to save.

"Excuse me?" the man asked, looking at me as though I had just grown a second head.

"You heard me," I said, getting the strong feeling that I was going to regret this. However, out of all the things that I have been doing lately, that I know I should regret, this one seemed the least difficult of them all. Being an arrogant ass is second nature for me, mourning the one I apparently love is not. I won't let them take away what is mine. "How are you going to make the system more democratic? Weasley was elected, three times in fact, so why do you think that that was not democracy?"

"There was no other opposition than Weasley himself!" the man exclaimed, then glared down on me. "There were no other parties that stood a chance!"

"In the last election the CWP nearly over took Weasley's party in the last election," I pointed out. It had been a topic Blaise and I had discussed at length after it had happened. If there is one thing that annoys me more than Weasley, it's Thomas Wayne, leader of the Conservative Wizarding Party. Conservatives, ich.

"But the Conservatives want to limit our rights even more!" the Williams fellow declared, now pacing along the stage. The other wizards with him watched, nodding along with his points. I was beginning to get the feeling that the whole lot of them held the same views. I wonder if they are the same ones who have been protesting over the past few months. "That's not another choice! That's not democracy!"

I stared up at him, frowning. "Well then, what is a democracy, in your eyes?" I asked, glancing over at Weasley. He was frowning at me, but then turned to look at his wife, who was approaching slowly through the crowd. In fact, it seemed like the Weasley clan was spreading out through the room. They were up to something. Good, then I was buying them time as well. If they could move through the crowds without setting off the alarms, then perhaps other members of the crowd could be doing the same thing. Wasn't Longbottom a member of that blasted army back in fifth year? And that git with the camera?

"Where everyone has a say in what happens in the government," Williams began to proclaim, his companions nodding in agreement. "Where there are more than one party with to choose from, and where the head of state doesn't have complete control of the military."

"If you have too many parties, you will never have a true majority to lead the government," I pointed out. "You will constantly be forced to have elections as the parties won't be able to push their bills through. And to avoid that they will need to negotiate with other parties to get a majority vote. That's why the parties have been merging together over the centuries. There is power in numbers not in small groups."

"But it's not right!" the man shouted at me, and I resisted the urge to take a step back. Alright, so the man is a complete loon. Not only does he have idealistic ideas that aren't even right, but he has a small group of armed followers which support him. The situation was beginning to seem more and more dire. It didn't seem as if this man would listen to reason, because as far as he is concerned he is right. I would be laughing at his stupidity right now if he didn't have Weasley locked up somewhere. Only thing I can do is stall for time. Or am I doing the wrong thing by not letting Weasley talk to them?

I glanced over at Weasley, but he just nodded at me. I glanced around quickly and noticed that more people had shifted through the crowd without notice. I wasn't sure what was going on, but it seemed like they had something up their sleeve. I turned back to the man on the stage.

"And what would you say is right?" I asked him, taking a step towards the stage so I wouldn't have to speak so loudly. "That there would be as many parties as there could possibly be, so every individual can find a party that has the most that they agree with? No one will ever agree with everything, that's why the parties are the way they are today."

"That's why we would have referendums on all the issues that matter to people," he said, glancing at his companions for support. "The people should decide what should happen."

"How would you determine which issues 'mater to people'?" I asked, glancing around the stage. Most of the followers were moving closer to their leader, as if to rally their support. "And how would you finance such an endeavour? Taxes would have to increase just to raise enough money to hold all the referendums that would need to take place, because something always matters to someone. And what would you do about all the people who really don't care about political issues? Not everyone votes, and of those who do vote, how many of them have informed opinions? How many people have their choice swayed by a fancy advertising ploy?"

"That will all get worked out as the system runs its course," he claimed, waving his hand. "The people will see that what we are trying to do is the right thing and they will agree. Democracy is the most important thing. Weasley has been making decisions that affect everyone without everyone having a say!" He pointed an accusatory finger at Weasley, who narrowed his eyes but did not say anything. The Weasley children were gone from sight. Only Molly Weasley, now standing beside her husband, remained.

"But they have had a say," I called back, returning my attention to Williams. "They elected Weasley to represent them and to make the decisions for them, which is what a representative democracy is all about! There are too many of us to have the direct democracy that you are proposing."

"They did it in ancient Greece," the mousy man declared, shaking his head. "All citizens voted on all issues. It was a pure democracy!"

I stared up at him and began shaking my head before I could stop myself. "It was not," I told him, knowing that as I said it I was just going to piss him off. Maybe that is just what Weasley – my Weasley - needs. "Only thirty thousand people in a city of close to a million people were considered citizens. No one else was allowed to vote because they were not considered Athenian, or even human." I cocked an eyebrow at him. "Are you suggesting that you are somehow going to decide who is a true citizen and who is not?"

"That would make you no better than He Who Must Not Be Named!" a voice called out from the other side of the stage. I glanced over to see Blaise standing there, wand hidden in his hand. He nodded at me, then continued to speak: "He thought that only pure bloods were worthy and everyone else was worth nothing more than dirt."

"You are twisting my words!" the man on the stage howled. "Everyone will be able to vote, everyone will have a say, and everything will be democratic, just as it should be!"

There was a murmur from the crowd and I could tell that they were not being bought by his ideas of a utopian society. That's the things with humans, we always like to look to what will be perfect, but once we achieve it it's never good enough and we are always left wanting more. And his proposed system will leave those who have, like the majority of the people here, with less. He's set up his soapbox in the wrong place and is pleading to the wrong crowd. The people here would much rather see a corrupt government than one where everyone has a say. They couldn't buy votes if everyone had one. It wouldn't be lucrative anymore.

Williams looked around at the crowd, looking more and more desperate. Then faint muffled explosions came from the wall above us, causing everyone to look up. There was nothing to see, save for the settling of some dust. I turned my attention back to Williams, only to see him worriedly look around.

"Go check that out," he told one of his men in an undertone, then turned back to me, furry on his face. He strode to the end of the stage and jumped off. Before I knew what was happening he had strode up to me, and I felt pain explode through my nose.

"You're doing it again!" he shouted, as I stumbled back into someone's arms. It took me a moment to realise that they were Blaise's. I glanced back at him to find his face twisted with anger, but all he did was set me back on my feet. I wiped at my nose, only to find blood.

"What the hell are you on about?" I snarled, flinging the blood to the ground. "I've never met you before!" I took a step towards him, my lip curling despite myself. If he wanted to fight, then that was what he was going to get.

"I didn't want to have this happen here, so out in the open, but you have been foiling all of my plans!" He pointed a finger at Weasley, who had removed his wand, but Molly was holding onto his arm, looking at me with distress.

"How could I have done that?" I demanded, taking off my robe jacket and tossing it to the floor. The man watched my actions, but the rage on his face didn't change to worry as I had hoped that it would.

"I don't know how!" he burst out, shaking his head. "But you just did! All we wanted to do was kidnap Weasley's daughter quietly, and then demand the changes, but you were always there! You and that stupid dog!"

"You were responsible for the attack of our daughter in her home?" Weasley demanded, his voice gruff and his face beginning to look angrier than I had ever seen it. It was a sight I am glad that has never been directed at me, and I hope that I never give him reason to. Let's hope that Weasley and I aren't a mistake, or I am sure that he will. Weasley. Ginny.

"That was the closest we ever got, and only because Malfoy wasn't around for once!" Williams spat, pulling out his wand. "He managed to find her when she was too drunk to defend herself, to walk her home in the fog, to find her alone in the park when that blasted dog of hers was distracted, and then again when she was walking with her friend. Every bloody time!" He glared at me. "And even our attack on your shop didn't stop you. So I burnt it down."

Before I knew what I was doing, I found myself on top of the man, punching at him with all of my might. A din went up around us, but I ignored it, focusing all of my attention on hurting the man underneath me. He was the one responsible for taking everything away from me. My shop, he burnt down my shop! And then he took Weasley! _My_ Weasley! Not to mention that he has been trying to take her all along. How could that have been possible? I never saw anyone around at those times. Admittedly, I was more distracted by her than I would care to admit at the time, but still. I mentally paused, well, there had been that squirrel at the Quidditch pitch. Or had it been a squirrel?

"Enough!" someone roared over the din, but still I ignored them, punching the man beneath me. He wasn't putting up much of a fight, which didn't surprise me much. "I said enough!"

The next thing I knew I was flying backwards until I smashed into the stage. People shrieked again, and I swore I saw stars before I realised that the crash had winded me.

A large burly man stood before me, his wand arm outstretched and pointed at me. He glared, then walked forward and offered Williams his hand. He pulled the feeble man up. I was glad to see that his face was bloodied.

"We don't have time for this!" the man said, turning his glare on Williams. "We have three minutes before they bring it down!"

Williams, his face bloodied, turned to Weasley, who was still being held back by his wife, and snarled, "Did you hear that? You have three minutes until they bring down one of your daughters fingers! Now, relinquish your hold on the government!"

I struggled to sit up, gasping for breath. A moment later Blaise crouched down beside me, holding me in place. "Don't move, mate." I glanced at him with a frown, but took his advice, turning my attention to Weasley, who had removed his wife's hands and had stepped forward.

"I want proof that my daughter will not be harmed before I relinquish anything," he declared loudly, his face even and professional once more.

"I am afraid that you don't get that luxury," the burly man said. "The way that they have her tied up we won't be able to get her down here any time soon."

"How will I know that you are not bluffing?" he demanded. Molly's face turned white as she looked desperately at her husband. I looked at him as well, but I could not tell what it was that he was thinking.

"You'll see when we show you one of her fingers! They will be bringing it through that door right now-" Williams began to declare, but was cut off as the main doors banged open.

"No they won't!" someone shouted from the front of the gallery, and magic began to fly.

o-o-o

The door flew open and slammed against the wall. I shrieked in surprise, but couldn't see who was in the doorway. The man in front of me spun around, knife at the ready. There was a flash of light and the man flew to the side, crashing to the ground in front of the desk. The knife clattered to the ground and landed in front of my feet.

"What they hell," Michael began to say, but another flash of light cut him off. He was blown off of his feet and flew into the lamp across the room. The light blinked out when he crashed into it, causing the light in the room to dim. The only light now came from the windows and the lights in the hall.

My head spun back around to the doorway, wondering who my saviour was, only to feel my heart drop when I realised who was standing there. This night keeps getting better and better.

"Ginny, are you alright?" Zach asked me. He walked into the room and crouched down in front of me. I stared at him, wondering what I should do, but my mouth seemed to decide for me before I could think of what I should actually say.

"No thanks to you," I snapped, struggling against the ropes that held me. I had the sudden urge to cry once more, but I wasn't going to let him see me cry, not after everything that he's put me through since I met him. I won't let him have that satisfaction.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, confusion on his face. Then his eyes widened and he seemed to realise what I was talking about. "You think that-"

"Well, did you think I was stupid?" I demanded. "Your boyfriend is the one down there demanding that my father step down from office!" I twisted in my seat, trying to break free, then screamed, "He wanted to cut my fingers off!"

"Ginny-" he started, then pointed his wand at the ropes which held me to the chair. A moment later my struggling was rewarded and I surged to my feet, only to fall back down. My legs and arms tingled painfully as the blood rushed back into them. Zach caught me before I hit the ground, sitting down with me.

"Don't touch me!" I said through the pain, but he held me in a vice grip, and all I could do was try not to move so that my sleeping limbs wouldn't hurt as much. "You were playing me all along! You couldn't even be bothered to be here when he took the only thing that I have that gives me the ability to truly express myself!"

"Ginny I-" he stopped, then shook me slightly. I yelped in pain, glaring at him, only to have my glare falter as I realised that he was crying. "Simon broke up with me last night," he said, shaking his head as tears streamed down from his eyes. "That's why I wasn't here on time. I was so drunk that I didn't even realise what time it was, but as soon as I did I tried to get here as fast as I could. Only they had already closed the doors, and I thought that I was too late, until I heard Malfoy arguing with Simon."

"Arguing?" I asked, wishing that my confusion would distract me from the pain, but I think that the pain was causing me to be confused. It was so hard to concentrate when my limbs were making themselves more known than they should be. "But he left."

"Well, he's back, and he was arguing with Simon over something about politics. I didn't stick around. I just heard that they had you and ran up here, hoping that I could find you before it was too late." His eyes seemed to fall on the knife the squirrelly man dropped and I felt him shudder through his tears. "I think I got here just in time."

He did, I realised, suddenly feeling like the biggest heel. They had used him just as much as they had tired to use me. It wasn't him trying to deceive me; it was them seducing him to get to me. My poor Zachypoo finally opens his heart to someone, only to have it ripped out of his chest and thrown back in his face. And for what? So that they could get at my father? Those bastards are going to pay.

"Oh Zach," I said, feeling the tears I had been trying to hold back fall down my face. "I'm sorry," I murmured, then dropped my head onto his shoulder. I felt him burry his face into my neck, and his grip increased.

"I'm sorry too," he muttered, and I could feel his tears on my skin.

We sat there for a moment, my head spinning. Of course they would go for Zach – he is the easiest target out of all of my friends. One of his favourite past times is to brag about the friends he has and what their accomplishments are. I think he lives vicariously through us sometimes. His second favourite thing to do is tell people about his own adventures. Since most of his adventures involve his friends it wouldn't be too hard to figure out who is what in my life. It wouldn't have been too hard for Simon to get information on me once the two of them were dating.

The question of why Malfoy would have come back, after our row, was also a little baffling. Did he see them come in, and follow them, or was he coming back to yell at me some more? Either way, why would he be arguing with Simon? Shouldn't he be trying to figure a way out of there? A way to contact the Ministry?

"What the hell?" someone asked from the doorway, causing the both of us to turn in surprise. There was a man standing there in a suit. He must have been one of the men from the party, probably sent to fetch my finger. I shuddered at the thought, then began to panic as he pulled out a wand.

"_Stuptify_!" Zach called, sending the man flying back into the wall in the hallway. He gently let go of me, setting me on the ground as he hurried to the door. He cautiously looked out and down the hall.

"I think he was the only one," he said, looking down on me. "Can you walk yet?"

I shifted my leg then cringed in pain. I shook my head no. Why couldn't they be bleeding or something concrete? I hate the feeling of sleeping legs. It's a surreal pain that shifts. It's not located in one place, it is just everywhere, hurting at random and multiple times. They didn't feel quite as asleep as they had been though.

"We have to tell the Ministry what's going on," he said. He glanced towards the open door and went back out into the hall. A moment later he returned, dragging the man with them. He dropped him onto the couch, and used his wand to bind him with ropes. He did the same for Michael and the squirrelly man. Then he turned and closed the door. "Do you think their Floo works?"

"I don't see why it wouldn't," I said, trying hard not to move.

He walked over to the fireplace, and tipped the various jars on the mantle until he found the one that he wanted. I watched as he grabbed a handful and tossed it into the fire, calling out for the Ministry of Defence. He carefully got down onto his knees and stuck his head through the flames.

I always find watching people do that to be disconcerting, so I looked away, turning my attention to the man lying on the couch. The way he was dressed he didn't seem out of place with the rest of the people who had been milling about in the gallery. I wonder how many of them had been in league with Michael. How many of them are still in there now, threatening people to keep calm.

With a shake of my head I reached into my bodice, ignoring the tingling in my arm, and pulled out my wand. I shifted slightly so that I could face the door. It's not like Zach could do anything with his head displaced and floating in the Ministry's building. That's not to say that I could do much myself with my still tingling arms. Knowing my luck, I will twitch and blow myself up instead of our attacker

"That's strange," Zach said a few moments later, brushing soot out of his hair. I frowned at him, waiting for him to continue. "There was no one there."

"What do you mean there was no one there?" I asked, struggling to my feet and, ignoring the jerkiness of my legs, hobbled over to the desk.

"I mean, there's no one in there, not even a secretary," Zach said, leaning back against the mantel.

"You don't think that they got into the Ministry as well, do you?" I asked, reaching for my purse. I slung it over my shoulder then hobbled over to the window. I wasn't sure what I was going to see down there, but I knew that I had to look.

When Zach didn't respond I turned to look at him, only to find him looking at my oddly.

"What?" I asked, frowning at him.

"Where did you get that dress?" he asked, looking me up and down. "That slit should be illegal."

"Malfoy gave it to me," I said, glancing down on it. It looked a little worse for wear, but it still looked as scandalous as ever. I looked back up at Zach and glared at him. "We don't have time to critique my wardrobe right now. You're boy- Ex is trying to oust my father from his job."

"Right," Zach said, clearing his throat. He walked around the desk as well, and stood beside me.

I rolled my eyes at him, then turned and peered down at the room bellow, expecting to see chaos. I was surprised at how calm everyone looked down there. All of the doors were closed and guarded by one or two people, holding wands or Muggle guns.

"Muggle guns?" I wondered aloud, my eyes shifting over the scene. Despite the guards the people in the room seemed relatively calm. My brothers had managed to spread themselves out across the room, but I couldn't tell exactly what they were up to. I'm sure they were up to something though, as we've all been briefed on what to do in situations like these.

I drew my attention to the front of the stage, where a man, who fit Simon's description, was talking animatedly to the crowd. I frowned at him, wondering what he was saying, until a flash of blond caught my attention. I felt my heart stop. He wasn't talking to the crowd, he was still talking to Malfoy. What was Malfoy thinking, arguing with a man like that? I felt my heart drop further when I realised that my father was standing beside him.

I glanced over at Zach, who seemed to be thinking along the same lines. I noticed a button by his head, and nudged him.

"Hit that, I think it will let us hear what's going on down there."

Zach nodded, and pressed the button. As I suspected sound filled the room.

"-too many of us to have the direct democracy that you are proposing," Draco said, and I turned my attention to him once more. He was looking as arrogant as ever and I couldn't help but hope that Simon wasn't the type to shoot people out of annoyance and anger – otherwise Draco's tone of voice would get him dead.

"They did it in ancient Greece," Simon declared. "All citizens voted on all issues. It was a pure democracy!"

"Oh no," Zach said, and I turned to see him looking down at Simon with distressed eyes. "This is what it's all about." He turned to look at me. "He used to tell me about how he hated our government, how he supported the people who were protesting against it." He paused. "Now it all makes sense I suppose. He was in with them."

I opened my mouth to respond, but the door slammed open behind us. I dropped down to the ground on instinct, which was probably a good thing as several blasts of magic sailed over my head and crashed into the window. I glanced back at it, surprised that it hadn't broken.

I glanced at Zach, but he was already sending his own spells blasting back over the desk. I followed suit, and in a moment, the three men who had barged in where unconscious on the ground. I cautiously stood up, and looked around.

"I don't think we can stay here anymore," I said, glancing down at the room bellow. I felt my eyes widen as Simon leapt off the stage, yelling. Malfoy began to take off his outer robes, and I turned away and looked at Zach. "And we need to get down there now, before you bloody Ex kills my boyfriend."

"So you admit that you're dating him now?" Zach asked, with a smirk on his lips, but I ignored it. Instead I kicked off my heels, then dodged around the desk and the multiple bodies scattered about and hurried into the hall. In retrospect it probably wasn't the smartest thing to have done, but luckily there was no one else in the hall to attack me.

"I don't admit anything," I snapped back at him, moving down the hall towards the stairs. Zach caught up with me with a few large strides, and caught at my arm.

"What are you planning on doing?" he asked, looking down on me with a frown. I glared back up at him and pulled my arm out of his grasp.

"I am going to go save my father's government," I said, and proceeded to go down the stairs before Zach could stop me. I had my wand at the ready and I was pleased that my hands weren't shaking anymore. I could hear the blood pounding in my ears though. It's been a while since I was in a situation like this. Not that the adrenaline ever really stopped when I was in situations like this more frequently.

"You bloody Gryffindor," he hissed and followed after me, falling into position beside me. Funny how none of us ever really forgot what we had learned in the DA.

We paused at the base of the stairs and slowly peered into the main foyer. There was no one else around in there, which struck me as odd. Why would they only post guards on the inside? Then it occurred to me that the men who just attacked us must have been the ones posted out here. I glanced over at Zach, and then walked towards the double doors, preparing to open them when someone's screaming from inside the room rang through.

"You'll see when we show you one of her fingers!"

My fingers. I frowned, feeling my anger at the whole situation rising.

"They will be bringing it through that door-"

I glanced at Zach, who nodded at me, and I began to push on the door.

"-right now!"

It flew open and Zach immediately began to throw hexes.

"No they won't!" I shouted, waving my wand and beginning to throw hexes myself.

It was in that moment, that the chaos I had been expecting when I looked down on the room began to ensue. The people who had been milling about began to scream and dodge the magic that the guards, who were apparently spread throughout the crowd as well, began to fling hexes back at us.

I dodged behind a pillar, just as I heard Percy call out to whomever he was with. The amount of hexes tripled, and people began to flee out the main doors, screaming as they went. I assumed that they must have begun to spill out onto the street, but I never stopped to check.

o-o-o

That was Weasley, I realised belatedly, as I heard hexes begin to fly around the back of the room. I didn't get the chance to wonder about how she had escaped as people began to scream and look frantically around. I looked around as well, noticing how, in the time I had spent arguing with their leader, the Weasley clan had dispersed themselves across the room and were now shouting out hexes of their own. They had flipped over the tables full of food and were using them as shields, as they attacked the people guarding the doors and the ones scattered through the crowd itself.

The Minster and his wife already had their wands out, throwing curses at the people on the stage. The men, for their part, dodged behind plants and podiums, shooting back at them.

I looked around, suddenly realising that Williams was no longer on the ground. I pulled my wand out, and scurried over to the stage, ducking down for cover. Blaise was crouched down as well, several feet away. I tried calling out for him, but he had his back to me and was moving quickly towards the other side of the stage. There was no way that he could have heard me over the din.

I turned away from him, knowing that Blaise can take care of himself. He used to duel for sport. I don't think that I have ever been able to best him when we compete for fun.

I shifted my eyes over the thinning crowd, looking for either Williams or a flash of blood red.

Something hot brushed past my ear, startling me out of my search. I dodged behind a table, smelling the stench of burning hair as I went. When I looked back up I saw Williams glaring at me from the corner of the stage. He was hiding behind a potted plant that didn't hide him well enough but was a nuisance on its own.

Glaring back at him I sent an incineration spell towards the plant, then a volley of other curses as he scurried to escape the flames. I caught him in the back with the third one and he stumbled and fell down the stairs. I leaned up slightly to see if I could confirm that he was down.

"Charles!" a failure voice shrieked behind me and caused me to turn away before I could find out.

The Cheating Bitch was running across the hall, somehow avoiding the stray spells which were flying around. Her heels clicked ridiculously and I watched, momentarily wondering how she managed to run in them, when I realised why she was running.

My former partner was slumped against the wall, with a man advancing on him, wand raised to attack.

I swung my wand up, but before I could utter anything, a blast of magic, from across the room, flew out and hit the man in the side. The Cheating Bitch, letting out another shriek, whacked the man with her purse as she slid into the scene. I watched as the man staggered around, only to be hit again, this time in the face, by the Cheating Bitch's purse. He spun down to the ground, and did not get back up.

She kicked him then looked over to where the spell that had hit the man had come from. I looked as well, and was surprised to see Weasley – my Weasley – looking straight at her.

Her dress was hanging oddly off of her shoulders, torn on the right side, and her makeup was a mess. The little jewel things that had been in her hair had tangled into the red locks, making her look slightly wild. The odd look on her face didn't make her look anymore tame, nor did the way she was holding her wand

I was about to call out to her, to make sure that she was alight, when her eyes snapped towards me.

"Draco!" she called out, just as I saw a flicker of movement before I felt something slam into my head.

I stumbled back and crashed into the stage. I caught myself, lifting my hand to my face to feel hot and sticky blood. I looked up just in time to see Williams, a foot away from me, swinging the base of a lamp at me.

I stumbled to the ground in my attempt to get out of the way, just as he slammed it into the stage. The resounding thunk echoed through my head.

He let out a snarl and pulled it back up, turning to face me. I tried to lift my wand, but my hand felt numb and useless. I glanced down on it, wondering if it was still there, which it was, but it refused to move. I looked back up, only to see Williams smirk.

"What are you going to do this time, Malfoy?" he snarled. "Break my nose again?" He hoisted up the lamp and brought it crashing down. I sluggishly rolled to the right, feeling the air move as the object slammed into the ground beside me.

I was wondering if I would be able to move quickly enough again, when he made a startled noise and crashed down to the ground beside me, sending the lamp skittering away. Red flashed across my vision, and for a moment I thought that he had caught me in the head again. A yelp of surprise made me turn over and realise that it wasn't my vision failing me, but red hair flying about.

"Ginny," I croaked, watching as she beat at the man's back. She must have thrown herself onto him. I couldn't' understand why she wouldn't have just used her wand, but now wasn't the time to think about it. I struggled to sit up, but nothing would move as I wanted it to. I ended up having to get myself into a clumsy crouch, pressing my hand and my wand into the ground for support.

"Get off of me!" Williams growled, and a moment later Weasley's body came crashing into mine, sending us both sliding into the stage. My hands fumbled, and I managed to get a hold of her, though my grip was failing. My wand fell out of my hand in the process, but it didn't occur to me that it was a terrible problem at the moment.

Weasley's weight shifted, and her face was suddenly in front of mine, worry etched all over her features.

"Draco, are you alright?" she asked, raising her hand and moving it against my forehead. I leaned my head into her hand, staring at her, slowly thinking that perhaps she was an angel. There seemed to be white light dancing around her gorgeous hair. And her touch was so soft, only an angle could feel that soft. I wonder if I can keep her.

"You're not," she began to say, as her face was suddenly ripped out of my vision.

Her scream tore through my ears, and I felt something click in my brain. It was as if someone had thrown a switch for suddenly I was in stark reality once more. The fuzziness that had been invading my consciousness fled away, leaving a headache of epic proportions.

"Don't move," Williams demanded as I moved to stand up. "Or I'll kill her."

I froze and looked up, only to feel my blood run cold. Williams had a handful of Ginny's hair in his hands, forcing her to bend back into his person as he held a wand to her chest. Her fingers were digging into his arm, drawing blood, but he wasn't letting go. She stared down at me, her eyes wide with fear and pain.

I glanced around for my wand. It had fallen a few feet away. Williams followed my eyes and jerked Ginny with him as he moved to kick it. Her cry of pain increased my desperation as my wand skittered out of sight into the chaos of the room. I glared back up at him.

"Let her go," I snarled.

"Or what, you'll glare at me to death," he demanded, scorn heavy in his voice. He shook his head and tugged Ginny closer to him. "You've ruined everything, you bloody git. And now it's my turn to ruin things for you." As he spoke the tip of his wand began to glow green.

I struggled to get up again. I wasn't sure what I was going to do, with no wand in sight, but ripping the man limb from limb didn't wound like that terrible of an idea.

"I'm serious," he snapped, forcing me to stop. The wand tip began to get brighter. "I'll kill her."

I stared up at him, and I knew that what he was saying was true. His eyes had that crazy edge to them that my father had had before he died – the look that said that life doesn't matter any more. I suppose this man's life is forfeit now anyways. With this stunt, there's no escaping the wrath of the Minister. Or mine. If only I could get Ginny out of his grasp first. Another yelp from her had me forcing myself to not get up. The bastard was hurting her. He would have had her fingers, the tools of her life. He would have-

"You made that beam crash to the ground, didn't you?" I asked, the idea suddenly occurring to me.

"That was before we realised how much more useful she would have been alive," Williams said, taking another step back, forcing Ginny with him. "Before we realised that you can get more with fear of harm to what you love than simple grief."

"You could have killed more than just me," Ginny gasped, her hands scratching the man's skin with renewed vigour. Blood dripped down his arm. "There were so many innocent people in that room with me!"

"Stop it!" Williams demanded, the tip of his wand flaring green.

Ginny let out a yelp of pain and stopped moving, her eyes falling to mine. I'd never seen anyone look so pathetic and desperate in one moment. I was raised to scorn such a sight, to strike out against it and remove it from my presence. However, none of those ingrained teachings came to mind. All I felt was the need to kill the man that was hurting the woman that I love.

"Draco," she said softly, the tears, which had been pooling in her eyes, spilling over and running down her cheeks.

"Let her go," I repeated, shifting my position on the ground so it would be easier for me to spring up. "Let her go otherwise I will make you wish that you had simply given yourself over to the Ministry and had been locked away in Azkaban for the rest of your pitiful life."

"I highly doubt that you have the ability to do that," he replied, though he wasn't looking as confident as he once had. "Your father was capable of it, but you, Malfoy, are a coward, incapable of choosing something to fight for. You'd rather watch both sides take each other out and live in hiding with your dear old mum." He yanked on Ginny's hair as he said this. "You don't have the guts. You never did."

I stared at him, not changing my outward appearance, but feeling confusion flood through me on the inside. He spoke as if he knew me, though I am certain that I have never met him before. Ginny was frowning at me, and I knew that she was wondering the same thing.

"Funny, how when I finally have the opportunity to change things, you, of all people, get in the way."

"What are you talking about?" I demanded, forcing myself to stay on the ground. The man liked to talk, as I found out before. Maybe if I can keep him talking, like the last time, something will occur to me as to how to save Ginny.

"They tore that town apart looking for you and your mother!" he shouted, his wand flaring green again. Ginny jerked and let out a shriek of surprise, though as I began to stand up he pointed the wand at me. "You and your cowardice are the reason my family is dead! And now you are the reason why all of this has fallen apart!"

He let out a bark of laughter. "That's why I torched your place. I wanted you to have a taste of what it felt like." He laughed again. "It's funny, isn't it? I just wanted to bring our people democracy, but now you have brought me the opportunity to get my revenge as well. Lovely how the world works like this sometimes isn't it?" He jerked on Ginny's hair again. "And now I am going to show you what it feels like to lose the one you care about most" He spun Ginny away from him, sending her crashing to the ground.

I sprang to my feet, surging towards him, but I was moving too slowly. All I could see were the whites of Ginny's eyes as she stared up at the man, at the green magic shinning on the tip of his wand.

"Avada-" he called, his voice echoing in my head, as a hex began to fly from my mouth even though I didn't have my wand. I knew as I was saying it though, that it would be too late. That I was too late. That all had gone wrong. That I had failed her.

"-Kedavra!"

Green filled my vision and I heard someone scream.

"No," I uttered, stumbling to a stop. My eyes were forced open in horror; red burned into my retinas blurring my vision. I didn't want it to fade away. I didn't want it to go so I would have to see the result of this failure. To see how I failed the one woman that I had truly loved. How I had lost her, just as I had let myself lose my mother. I had let her fall, and left her to drag herself back out of it on her own. But Ginny can't drag herself back out of this. She can't drag herself out of death. She can't drag herself back to me. And even if she could, why would she when I let her die?

I felt my knees collide with the ground, the jarring sensation finally allowing me to close my eyes.

I've lost her.

It's my fault.

I should have stopped him. I shouldn't have dropped my wand. I should have-

"Draco?"

I felt my heart stop. It couldn't be. I'm imagining this. Her insanity must have transferred itself into me when she left. It's her legacy to me for failing her. Her revenge for letting her slip through my fingers. For letting her die at the hands of a madman.

"Draco," Insanity's voice said again, only this time I could feel her. Feel her hands brushing gently over my skin.

I shivered.

It felt so much like her. Is this what I am going to have to deal with for the rest of my life? Be haunted by the woman I couldn't save? Be haunted by the woman I loved and didn't keep safe? I suppose it makes sense, she wormed her way into my life when she was alive, changed me to be with her and her alone, it makes sense that I would have to deal with her for the rest of my life, even if she was no longer living. Why does this idea seem even more horrible than the thought of never seeing her again, of never hearing her laughter twinkling in my ear, feeling her soft skin against mine, smelling that wonderful scent of hers? Why? Because this is only insanity, not Weasley. Her insanity. A part of her. Perhaps having something of her, even her instability, is better than nothing. At least I will never be alone.

"Draco, open your eyes," the voice said, her hands becoming more insistent. "It's alright. I promise you, it's alright." The hands feathered against my closed eyes. "I never promise anything, but I'll promise you this. Just don't leave me."

Leave her? How can I leave her if she was the one to leave me?

"Open you eyes, damnit!" she suddenly shrieked, and they snapped open of their own accord.

I blinked, and then blinked again. I can't be seeing this, can I? This can't be right. This must just be the insanity. That's right, that's all this is.

"Draco, you're scaring me," she said, clutching my face in both of her gentle hands.

I stared at her, taking in her rat's nest of hair; her make-up, which was smudged and ruined; her pale skin; her frightened eyes. I was making them afraid, wasn't I?

I blinked again, and it was like the world suddenly caught up with me. She wasn't dead. She wasn't dead!

"Oh Ginny," I said, opening my eyes again and gathering her into my arms. I clutched her to me, and I could feel her fingers digging into my shoulders. A moment later she began to cry and some part of me, probably the part of me that had started to go insane at the thought of losing her, wanted to cry as well.

I wouldn't let myself though. Instead I made myself look to the man who had almost taken everything from me. He was lying on the ground, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Standing beside him was the non-boyfriend, wand hanging limply from his hand.

He lifted his head to look at me, and I saw the sorrow and disbelief that I had felt moments before.

"I loved him," he said, as if he needed to say it out loud to know that it was true. "But I don't think I knew him. The man I knew couldn't have done all of this. He couldn't have." He turned away from me and looked down on the man again.

I nodded, looking away, pulling Ginny tighter against me. She was so warm and alive in my arms, and I had to mentally scream at the insane part of me to stop trying to get tears from my eyes. Everything was fine. Everything was fine.

"Ginny?" someone called from a few feet away. "Ginny, are you alright?"

I looked up to see Molly Weasley, followed by her husband, and the rest of the Weasley lot, hurrying towards us. I felt a pang of dread and increased my grip on the woman in my arms. I wasn't going to let her go. I don't care who they are, I am never letting her go again.

"Ginny?" Molly asked, dropping down to the ground beside us, reaching out and brushing the hair away from her daughter's shoulder. She glanced at me, smiling in a way that made me feel like I had done something right for once. I was too stunned by it to respond, so I just stared back. "Ginny?"

"I'm alright, mum," Ginny finally said, lifting her head from the crook of my neck with a sniffle. "I'm fine. Zach- he saved us. He saved us both." She looked over her shoulder to where the non-boyfriend was now sitting against the wall, staring at the body. I felt a pang of sympathy for him, though I didn't move to help him.

"Harry wants to talk to you, dear," Molly said, reaching out and stroking her cheek. "Let's get the both of you something to drink while we wait for him to finish talking to the men they found upstairs."

"No," Ginny said, shaking her head, and I looked down on her with a frown. Molly frowned at her as well, but she continued to shake her head. "I just want to go home and go to bed. He can talk to us tomorrow."

"I'd prefer if you would talk to me now, Gin," someone said, from a few feet away. I looked over to see Potter standing there, looking exhausted yet confident, as the git always seemed to manage. I was glad to see that the bruise I had given him was still on his cheek bone.

Ginny stared at him, and I could feel her stiffen slightly in my arms. Then she finally nodded and pulled away from me, giving me a small smile as she stood up. Potter stepped forward and led her towards the stage, where he helped her to sit down. I watched them, feeling cold and suddenly alone, yet at the same time there was warmth in my heart.

"Come on son," someone said, a hand suddenly appearing in front of me. I looked up to see the Minister looking down on me, an odd smile on his face. I looked back at his hand, then took it and let him pull me to my feet. If my father could see me now. But then, I am pretty sure that he would have had a heart attack some point sooner during this evening and wouldn't have made it to when he could see me accept the help of his mortal enemy.

"Thanks," I said, nodding at him as I let go of his hand. He stared at me for a moment, the smile fading from his face. His brown eyes seemed to be burrowing through me, and I had a disconcerting feeling that he could see what I was thinking. I didn't look away though. I wasn't sure why, probably because if things actually end up working between me and Ginny, then I am going to have to deal with this man every holiday and birthday. Merlin, think of all the birthdays we are going to have to attend with this family. So many bloody Weasleys and Weasley spouses and Weasley offspring.

I glanced back over at Ginny. She still looked like the angel I had seen when Williams got me in the head. A little dirtier, and a little more tired, but still an angel. My angel. I would put up with all of that for her. I would attend every family gathering that would be forced upon me, if only to make her happy. I want her to be happy. Happy with me.

When I looked back to the Minister, I realised that he was still staring at me. He had seen me looking at his daughter. If I were a different man I would have blushed, but I am me, and Malfoys do not blush, well, at least not in situations like these. So I just stared back at him, challenging him to say something. Which he did.

"No, thank you, Malfoy," he said finally. "You've done more for my daughter than I think you'll ever realise." He lifted his hand, offering it to me. I waited for him to make some comment about me being different from my father, but it never came. I wasn't sure if I should feel offended or honoured that he hadn't said anything, but I shoved it all aside and reached out and took his proffered hand.

"Excuse me, Arthur," Potter said, suddenly to my left. We both turned to look at him, and he gave me an odd look before turning his attention to the Minister. "She's fine, well, as fine as she can be expected to be in this situation, but it was as we suspected."

I frowned, and opened my mouth before I could stop myself. "You mean you knew this was going to happen?" I demanded, glaring at Potter, then at the Minister himself. Potter bristled and glared back at me.

"We didn't know this specifically would happen, but we had a feeling something could. We had tried to smuggle in Aurors in, but Michael was very careful as to who got invited." He glanced over at the woman in question, his face softening in a way that made me want to hit him again. "He made sure that I wasn't here, or any of her other Auror friends."

I stared at him for a moment then frowned. "You knew they were after me as well, didn't you? That's why you came to my shop when the ventilation went haywire."

Potter shrugged, glancing at the Minister. "We had a hunch, but we didn't know until they set it on fire. We had been watching the building, that's when we knew for sure."

"And you didn't bother to stop them from torching the place while you were at it?" I demanded, feeling my anger rise. Potter was the reason I didn't have a business anymore? Why all of my workers were suddenly unemployed? I should have hit him more than once.

"Warner tired, but they killed him before he could do anything but warn us," Potter said, his eyes narrowing, as if challenging me to say more.

"You've got them all now though, don't you, Harry," Weasley asked, cutting into the tension that had been building around us. Potter glanced at me, then nodded.

"Those who are still alive. They used the same toxin the one in Ginny's flat had used," he shook his head. "The ones who were unconscious when we found them are. Thankfully Michael was one of them."

A warm presence beside me drew my attention away from Potter and the Minister. I looked down to see Weasley standing beside me. She seemed shorter than she had when we had arrived, and I looked down to see her naked feet.

"Where are your shoes?" I asked, looking from her naked feet to her tired face. She glanced down on them and shrugged when she looked at me again.

"I think I left them in the office." She glanced up at the wall, as if she was expecting to see something up near the ceiling. There was nothing there. "They can stay there though, they hurt my feet."

"Ah," I said, looking over to see that Potter and Weasley were watching us.

"I want to go home," she said, turning her attention back to me. The make-up, which had marred her face the last time we had spoken was gone now, leaving her face startlingly bare: her naturally red eyelashes were fluttering over her tired eyes, while the skin around her eyes looked so dark that it seemed to be bruised.

"Alright," I said, and was about to turn to Potter to have her escorted, but she reached out and caught my hand. I looked down on her, barley managing to keep my surprise inside. She wants me to come with her? I am used to the feeling of me being in love with her and wanting her with me, but for her to want me with her as well?

She looked up at me and smirked slightly when I didn't move. "I still have to pay you back for that bet," she said, then stifled a yawn. She turned back to the two men beside us. "I'll see you both tomorrow. I have to get out of here."

Potter opened his mouth, but Weasley gave him a look which made him stop from saying whatever it was. Which was probably a good thing because I would much rather go with Weasley – my Weasley – than take pleasure in punching him once more. Man, what has this woman done to me? Since when do I give up an opportunity to hit Potter? That insanity she gave me must be powerful stuff.

We didn't speak until we were at her door, and she was fumbling with the contents of her purse to get her keys. She glared at it, then shoved it at me.

"Hold this," she said. I glared at her, but obliged without comment. She continued to dig through it until the jingling of keys greeted my ears. She jammed them into the lock and, after turning them, shoved the door open.

Her mutt came bounding towards us, skittering to a halt beside her legs. He looked up at me with his mismatched eyes, as if to ask why I wasn't coming in. Weasley, upon noticing that I was still standing there, turned and asked, "Coming?"

"Weas- Ginny," I corrected myself, though I wasn't quite sure why. "You need to sleep. You can put that damned thing back on for me another night." I mentally stopped at what I was saying. What's this? I finally get the chance to get laid, by her of all people, the angel/demon who has made me abstain from what I usually took so often, and I tell her she should go to sleep? What they hell is wrong with me?! Oh right, I'm in love.

"If you walk away from me now there will never be another night," she said, looking at me with dead seriousness. Her mutt let out a snort, as if in agreement. I stared at her until she continued. "My mother wasn't entirely wrong, you know. I do have commitment problems, and if you leave, I am never going to have the guts to let you this close again. Not unless there's another life changing even like this. And I am really hoping that there won't be, not because I don't want to have this chance again, but because I don't think that my heart can take any more of this crap. Or my sanity for that matter because-"

I cut off her flow of speech with my lips, moving forward into the flat and pulling her into my arms. Her beast let out a yelp as one of us stumbled onto his feet, but neither of us pulled away to attend to him. I'm surprised that he didn't get himself caught in the door the way I tried to shove it closed. Probably for the best too, because I don't think I would have been too keen on getting him out until morning.

"Not the couch, not the couch," Weasley muttered against my neck, which she was assaulting with her mouth. We had been stumbling in that direction, my shoes and jacket coming off along the way. "Not the- ow!"

"What?" I asked, pulling back from her, but not entirely away, to look down on her.

"You just stood on my foot!" She glared up at me angrily, but the way her hair fell into her face, and how swollen her lips already were, made her look anything but threatening. I let out a bark of laughter before I could stop myself. "Malfoy!" she exclaimed, trying to step away from me.

"Oh no you don't," I said, then swept her up into my arms. She let out a shriek of surprise, which I ignored as I walked into the bedroom, kicking the door closed on the mutt, who was looking at us with an annoyed expression.

I laid her down on the bed, sitting beside her and I couldn't help but smirk at the fact that she still looked angry. "I'm sorry I stood on your foot," I said, then leaned down and kissed her gently. She kissed me back, clutching at my shoulders. I wasn't sure if she wanted to pull me forward, or push me away. I have a feeling that she didn't know herself. But finally she must have decided, because she pulled me down on top of her.

"What if I don't forgive you?" she asked after a few minutes, pulling at the buttons on my shirt, undoing them.

"Hmm, tough question," I said, leaning down and kissing her ear. It was pink and warm, as though she was embarrassed, though the way she was undoing my buttons I got the feeling that she was anything but. "I suppose that I would have to beg for your forgiveness." She pushed my shirt off of my shoulders and I almost hissed at the feel of her hands against my bare skin.

"I thought that Malfoys don't beg," she said, trailing her hands down my back, running them along the top of my pants. I had to resist a shiver.

"For you I would," I said before I could stop myself.

Mentally I slapped myself and hoped that she hadn't heard me, but by the way she had stopped moving I knew that she had. After a moment I carefully pulled back to look down on her. Her face was unreadable, then she pulled her hands away from my waist and brought them up to my face, brushing at my eyebrows and cheekbones.

"Who would have thought that a Malfoy would beg to a Weasley," she said finally, her eyes twinkling as she continued to touch my face with feather-light touches. She smirked up at me, pushing her fingers into my hair. "Makes me feel a little powerful," she continued, the smirk growing. "I think I might not forgive you just to see what it would be like."

"Then I better start this before you can think of doing any such thing," I said, dipping my head and kissing her deeply. The smirk that had been on her lips slipped away and a moment later her hands were on me again, roaming around and driving me mad.

I shifted my weight and pulled myself onto the bed properly. I was about to rearrange myself on top of her, but she reached out and pushed me back. I sat back, wondering if maybe she had suddenly realised what we are doing, that she really was too tired.

As I stared at her I began to wonder, much to my own distress. This is wrong, isn't it? I am taking advantage of her, aren't I? I should be the responsible one here and make her go to sleep and tell her we should do this when she hasn't nearly been killed. I was about to tell her so, but she reached out and put a finger on my lips.

"There's still my part of the bargain," she said, then reached around to the back of the dress and slowly began to undo the zipper. I watched her, marvelling at how her skin glowed in the moonlight, which was pouring in through her open window. The bodice began to loosen, pulling away from her skin, yet staying in the way. When she had reached the bottom she brought her hands to the top of the dress, and watching me the whole time, slowly pulled it off of her shoulders and down her arms.

Her skin looked so soft and delicate in this light, like it was porcelain. The only thing that prevented it from truly being porcelain was the freckles all over her skin. All those freckles, even over her breasts. My lips curved slightly at the thought of her exposing that area to the sun to get as many as there were there.

I looked back up at her, to find her still watching me, as if waiting for approval or something. I reached out and brushed her hair out of her face, and felt my lips pull into a smile.

"You're even more beautiful than I first realised," I said, pulling her towards me and kissing her again.

She let out a small laugh then pulled back. "I bet you say that to all your girlfriends," she said, leaning back and pulling me with her, her lips hungrily meeting mine.

I rolled to the side beside her after a moment, slowly running my hand down her body until I caught the top of her dress, and began to pull it the rest of the way down. Her hands caught mine, but I pushed them away, enjoying the slow revealing of her body.

"That's my job," she said after a moment, but didn't move to stop me again. I glanced back at her and smirked before leaning down and kissing her stomach. She giggled then lifted her hips so I could pull the dress over her legs. She kicked it off, and then looked up at me. "I think you're still wearing too many clothes."

"But-" I said, struggling to drag my eyes away from her. Red. Everywhere she was red. Then I turned my eyes up accusingly. "You planned this," I said, pointing at her now completely naked body.

"You can't hold all the cards," she said with a giggle, then sat up and kissed me, hard, her hands wandering down to my belt.

I found myself smoothing the hair out of her face a while later. She was lying on me, her face resting on my shoulder, so I could see her sleeping features. The moonlight was still lighting up her skin, and making it almost painful to look at her.

My Weasley, my love.

I paused. That should be the most horrible thought ever, but somehow it just sounds right. So right that it hurts. How did I get to be here in my life, with her of all people with me? I would stop to think about it, but I don't think I have the energy to anymore.

So instead I just reached down and pulled the blanket up and over us, then shifted her body slightly so it wasn't digging quite so painfully into my ribs. It's funny, I could deal with her bony body digging into mine for the rest of my life, and I don't think that it would ever really bother me – just as long as she stays warm and soft like she always will be.

She shifted against me, rubbing her face against my shoulder.

"We- Ginny," I asked softly, stroking her hair now. "Could I make you mine?"

"I already am," she blearily against my shoulder, her hand, which was on my chest, smoothing out my skin.

I was wrong, that should have been the most horrible thing ever, but somehow it makes me want to sing to the world – and Malfoy's don't sing.

o-o-o

**Works Cited**

o- "Only thirty thousand people in a city of close to a million people were considered citisens" - Apparently this is true. Amazing what you learn when you actually stop drawing in your political theory class...

o-o-o

A/N: Oh, I could have left the nastiest cliff hanger ever with this chapter, but I realised that since I made you all wait so long, that your idle threats to harm me for not updating fast enough might become real. So, I restrained myself and gave you all something that I hope you will appreciate. There's only one chapter left after this, and perhaps an epilogue, since I have a few cutesy ideas left. We'll see about that though...

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed and e-mailed me over the year to tell me what you think of this story. I know I don't always get the chance to reply, but I really do appreciate it. Really really! I heart you guys!


	15. Float On

Title: Painting an Oyster

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one legged lesbian seagull hotmail com (Please add 3 underscores, one "at" sign, and a period)

A/N: Well, this didn't take me forever to get this out, now did it? I tried, I really did, but trying to write a happy ending with a broken heart really isn't possible. You would have murdered me if I would have posted the original ending. I am happy as a clam now, however, with a new boy, who could very well be my Draco (let's just hope that this time I am his Ginny. q;). So yes, it saddens me to bring this story to an end, but it must be done. So please, enjoy the end of Painting an Oyster.

This chapter is dedicated to my dear friend Mara, who lost her furry friend with mismatched eyes (who I got the pleasure of seeing cute pictures of because Sneazel reminded her of him). He's in a better place and you will see him again.

Disclaimer: I don't claim anything but the plot, to be mine.

P.S. I got my soul back. Hurray! So I do own that again...

**Painting an Oyster**

**Chapter 15**

**Float On  
**

o-o-o

Soundtrack: "Float On" by Modest Mouse

o-o-o

I woke up feeling sore all over. I wasn't sure if it was from the night's events, or from all the fighting and running that took place at the gallery. As I shifted positions I knew it was more from the former.

I opened my eyes and saw Malfoy's sleeping face resting on my shoulder. Both his arm and leg were thrown across my body, holding me down, but not in an uncomfortable way. Actually, the weight of him in this position is more reassuring and enjoyable than the time he had crawled into my bed and laid on top of me.

I paused. That was last night, wasn't it? It feels like months ago that that happened. So much shit went down last night that I am not sure it all actually could have realistically happened in the span of twenty-four hours.

Out of all of the people I know in the art world, I never thought Michael would be one to use me as he did – let alone try and take over the Wizarding world. Actions and plots like that were meant for people like Voldemort, or so I always thought – but I suppose the world isn't so black and white.

I brushed the hair out of Malfoy's eyes as I thought that. No, I suppose it couldn't be since Malfoy turned out the way that he has, and that he has weaseled – no pun intended – his way into my life, and heart I must admit, the way that he has.

I can't believe I thought that it could have been Zach though. After all my bestest friend has done for me, I loose faith in him when he needs me the most. I can't imagine what he must be going through right now. He had been so happy with Simon. I thought, and am pretty sure that he did as well, that Simon had been The One. I'm not even sure what I can do for him now. I'll have to go over there once it's a reasonable enough hour and bring him food. Food makes the pain less.

Reasonable. Looking back on all of this now, perhaps quitting my job and trying to paint on my own was one of the stupidest things that I have ever done. Look at the mess I have gotten into because of it, and the people who have gotten hurt along the way. If it wasn't for Michael, I never would have had a show and never would have painted as much as I have – but he only picked me because of who I am and what sort of card I would be in his hand.

Would anyone else have given me that opportunity if they didn't want to topple my father's government? I am some how getting the feeling that they wouldn't. I am also getting the feeling that for the rest of my life I am going to be haunted by who I am related to, and the famous men I have dated. I am never going to be known as Ginny Weasley, fabulous painter of the strange and bizarre. I am only ever going to be the daughter of the Minister, or the girl who once broke the Boy Who Lived Twice's heart, or even, the girl who once dated Draco Malfoy: England's most eligible bachelor.

It's kind of ironic since who I know is why I have received the opportunities that I have, while at the same time, knowing those very people is the reason why I will never be able to say that I am anything of my own making, or that people will ever know me as just Ginny Weasley; know me because of what _I_ can do, and what _I_ alone have done.

I suppose the joke's on me really. I always thought that I was such a fiercely independent woman, standing on my own two feet and facing off against the world. Thinking about it now though, I realise that I have been fooling myself the whole time. I can't survive on my own – if anything, these past few months have shown me that. I need my puppy to keep me company, I need to live by my bestest friend to feel like I am not alone in the world, I need Luna to keep me sane (which is a bit of a paradox, I know), I need my father and Harry to protect me when things get complicated and people get intrusive, I need my mother and brothers to help get around, and finally, I need Malfoy to fill out the parts of me that are obviously lacking.

Looking at it, I suppose that there is nothing wrong with all of that. I was raised in a big family, and all of us depended on each other and helped each other, making us a much stronger family than many others I knew. With the exception of Percy's abandonment in my 4th year, we were always coming to the aide of one another, and it certainly hasn't stopped since we have all moved out.

You know, I don't think I would like it if my family suddenly just dropped off the face of the earth and I really had to prove to myself and the world that I can do this on my own. No one should have to do it on their own.

Oddly enough thinking about all of this doesn't make me as upset as it should. It's almost like all of my life I have always known this. All of my life, really, I have been living like his. Maybe it's time for me to grow up and do what I should have done all along: settle down, have a family, and do whatever it was that my mother did when we were growing up. Perhaps it is time for me to create my own family who will depend on me, just as I have depended on my own for all of my life.

I looked down on Malfoy again. I could see myself being happy living in that proverbial house with its white picket fence, waiting for Malfoy to come home, having dinner ready for him as I chase our several children around the house-

I stopped and tried to envision myself in this role, but for some reason the image wouldn't stick and I finally gave up. Who the hell am I trying to kid? I could never live like that. Sure, I want to have kids, and a house, and a husband (though not in that particular order) some day, but to be like my mother, and devote all of my time to my family would drive me insane. Does that make me selfish? I_need_ to do something creative, something that will leave my mark in the world. I know that my children will be my mark in the world, and that they will be the most important people in the world to me, but I need to be me too.

And besides, I don't think Malfoy is the white picket fence type anyways.

Wow, where is my mind getting off to? We're barley dating and I'm already thinking about our future children?! What is wrong with me? And yet these past few months have felt like a decade, and a part of me knows that I have never connected with anyone like this in my life. Isn't that what you are supposed to find? Someone you can connect with, someone you can call your best friend, someone you can see loving no matter what happens...

Malfoy grunted then and pulled my closer, nestling his head harder against my shoulder and frowning softly. I noticed that line again and wondered if I would still be around to see it when it became permanent.

I still don't get why he would choose to be here with me. Why after all that was said and done he is still here with me. That he saved me – in more ways than one. That he chose me.

No, I suppose I shouldn't say that he chose me. He is still a Malfoy after all. A Malfoy known for sleeping around (and boy did all of that sleeping around teach him a thing or two) and for his bachelor life. How do I know that all of this is no more than an extended one night stand? How do I know, or even why I would assume, that he won't just up and leave without more than a goodbye, or perhaps, a clichéd "this was fun but..."

There must be something seriously wrong with me to be thinking about this. Here he is, in my arms, after weeks and weeks of always showing up and, well, proving to me that he is with me – even if neither of us wanted that at first. You would think that at some point I would believe in it and try to make it real.

I have been deluding myself long enough. This is the point in my life story where I make my stand and finally do what I should have done a while ago: take some responsibility in this relationship. If I want him then I have to fight to keep him. And I am not going to even ask myself if I want him, because I know I do; I think I have known all along. I love him.

With that warm and fuzzy thought in mind, I reached out and wrapped my arm around him and hugged him closer to me, relishing the heat his body gave me; the feel of his soft skin and hard edges pressing against my bare skin.

No, I would hazard to say that I am quite addicted to him now, and no other man would ever suffice.

Scary thought, especially considering that this is Malfoy I am talking about. Wasn't little Ginny Weasley supposed to end up as Mrs. Harry Potter in the end, as I always dreamed, like my mother did? Funny how life can lead you to somewhere you never expected to be, even in a million years...

A knock at the door brought me out of my revere.

I heard Sneazel get up in the other room, and click his way over to the door and sit down in front of it. I glanced at Malfoy, who was still sleeping soundly, before carefully pulling my body out of his embrace. He rolled over as I scooted out off the bed.

My naked body felt cold without him, so I hastily pulled on a nighty, and put my new housecoat on over top. I tied the sash on my way out of my room, carefully closing the bedroom door behind me. I took a final glance at Malfoy's exposed back and finely sculpted behind as I did so.

The person on the other side of the door knocked again.

Sneazel glanced at me as I approached, his mismatched eyes shinning in the early sunlight. He didn't whine at the door as he usually does, only raised a paw and scratched at it – it was almost as if he didn't want to wake Malfoy up. If I didn't know any better I would almost suspect that my puppy liked him more than me. He has no qualms in waking me up with all his noise making abilities when it's just me in that bedroom.

I sighed and straightened my hair before glancing out the peek hole. I'm not sure who I expected to see on the other side, but it certainly wasn't the red head that was there.

He knocked yet again; a little louder this time.

Glancing down on Sneazel in confusion, I shuffled him aside with my foot. My puppy leapt up and got out of the way, still not making any noise. Usually he would be leaping about, barking for the entire world to hear. I frowned down on him slightly, then pulled open the door.

"Hi," I said, staring out at my third oldest brother.

"Hi, Gin," Percy replied, glancing around, then letting his eyes dart over my attire. "I'm sorry to drag you out of bed, but I just wanted to talk to you before I went to work." He paused and looked down on Sneazel, who was staring up at him, quietly, might I add. Percy dropped his hand onto his head and gave him a rub.

"Oh," I replied, shrugging a bit.

I didn't really want to hear a lecture from him at the moment, but now that I had opened my door it was a bit too late. Maybe that was why Sneazel wasn't barking: to save me from actually having to answer the door for my brother. I should have just pretended to be asleep. Damn. Perhaps my puppy is still on my side after all...

"Would you like to come in?" I asked, stepping aside and holding the door open. He stepped inside, but did not move towards the couch. I closed the door behind him, staring at his finely fitting pin-stripped suit.

I wonder what he will have to say this time. Probably I told you so, for quitting my job and having the show. Of course, he was there, he saw it happen and what all went down. There was no way he could have known it all would happen to me, but if I had listened to him in the first place I never would have found myself in that position, nor endangered my family as I did.

Yet as Percy turned around, he didn't have his usual arrogant, pompous, I-Told-You-So look on his face. Actually, he looked a little worried.

"Ginny, I'm sorry," he said before I could even fathom the expression on his face.

"What?" I asked before I could stop myself.

"I'm sorry for giving you such a hard time a few weeks ago," he said. I felt my eyes widen at his apology and his ears turned slightly pink as he stared back at me. "It wasn't my place to do so," he continued before I could say anything. "I knew it the moment I saw your work hanging in that gallery. You're far more talented than anyone in this family gives you credit for, more so than you yourself do too, I suspect." He paused. "It's just rotten luck what happened. Rotten, foul, luck, which I hope you won't let discourage you."

I was getting the feeling that he had rehearsed what he wanted to say to me several times already. I decided to stay silent and let him get whatever it was out. Not that I would have known what to say if I hadn't; my brother never apologises like this. Not to me at least.

"It's just that, well," he glanced down at Sneazel again, then looked back at me with such honest eyes. "Penelope's pregnant." I opened my mouth to say something, but he held up his hand. "Just let me get this out, Gin." I nodded, completely confused and excited at the same time. Pregnant? I'm going to be an aunt. Again.

"We've been trying for such a long time. We didn't want to tell anyone we were, because I didn't want mum getting all up in arms about it and calling doctors and the like." Typical man. Though, she did do it to Fred when she heard that they we're having trouble. "And I'm not going to lie, it was hard. And it made me wonder what it would be like to be a father." He paused again. "Or what it would be like to never be one."

He stared at Sneazel again, and then shook his head as if to rid himself of the memory. "And while all this was happening, all I could see at the time was the poor job mum and dad were doing to raise you."

"Excuse me?" I asked, frowning at him now, the excited feeling all but gone. My hands found their way to my hips before I could stop them. They always seem to go there when my brothers start to piss me off. Like now. "I am no longer being 'raised', thank you very much."

"I realise that," Percy assured me hastily, his ears turning red now. There were also spots on his cheeks, showing his embarrassment. "But at the time all I could see was you in the papers, you quitting your job, you hanging out with that Malfoy." He shook his head again. "I was stressed about what was happening at home, and I took it out on you. I shouldn't have. You're a grown woman, you know what is best for you, and what needs to be done in your life. Yet all I could see was what I would be doing if I was dad and you were my daughter." He shook his head again, then looked at me. "But you're not my daughter, you're my little sister. My little sister's who somehow managed to grow up before I ever got the chance to get used to the idea of it. I'm sorry."

I stared at him for a moment then felt tears prick my eyes. I suppose that explains a lot of it then. Why he was so on edge with everybody, why he was so moody, and why he freaked out on me that night. Oh, if I only would have known then. But then, I don't think Malfoy and I would be where we are if I hadn't drunk myself blind that night. Guess everything happened for a reason after all.

"Oh, Perc, it's ok," I said, taking a step towards him and wrapping my arms around him. After a moment he hugged me back.

Percy and I don't usually hug – actually, I don't think he hugs many people – but this hug was full of emotion. I didn't pull back until he did, sniffling slightly as he pushed his glasses back up his nose.

"So a baby, huh?" I asked, looking up at my big brother with a grin.

He nodded. "It should be here in the next six months, if everything goes alright," he said, a worried smile lighting up his face. "You'll teach him or her how to paint, right?" he asked me.

I nodded, feeling dumbfounded. I didn't know how to process that request, and I still don't, even after Percy had left for work. I closed the door behind him and stared down at Sneazel.

Percy was one of the ones least interested in my art career. That's not to say that most of my family was, because they weren't, but Percy was the one who I could tell didn't think very highly of anything I did. I got over it, of course, but it always hurt a bit to think that my family didn't care. But now to have him say something like that, and to tell me, right after, that he had also purchased one of my paintings? Well, it's more than I can handle at the moment.

Another knock on the door forced me to stop thinking about what Percy has said and the implications that went with it. Wondering if it was Percy again, having remembered something else to tell me and destabilise my foundation further, I opened the door.

For the second time that morning I was surprised by who stood before me.

"Mister Walters?" I asked, suddenly feeling very undressed. My face heated up, much to my horror.

"Hello Ginny," he said pleasantly, discreetly eyeing my housecoat and my rat-nest hair. Why didn't I check to see who it was so I could have made myself at least semi presentable before I opened the door? Or at least made it look like I hadn't been making love all night. "No no," he said as I moved to let him inside. "I'll only be a minute."

I nodded dumbly back at him.

"I read what happened to you last night in the paper this morning," he said, holding up a folded copy of _The__Prophet_. "I would be horrified if it happened to anyone, but I couldn't believe that it happened to you." He shook his head, in what seemed to be disbelief. "I'm not going to lie, I was quite disappointed to hear that you were going to quit; you were one of my better curators in a long while, but after seeing some examples of your work in the paper I understand why you left and am glad for the art world that you did."

I nodded, once again in a dumb fashion, to his compliment. If my head had been reeling before, it was going double time now.

"So I just wanted to come here and offer you my condolences for what happened to you – no one should have that happen at an opening." I nodded once more. "And to give you my offer."

"Offer?" I asked, feeling suddenly more confused and overwhelmed than I had before – and that's saying something.

"I want to host you as one of our feature artists in our grand opening in three months," he said.

I felt my mouth fall open and I stared at him, wondering if I was dreaming. His gallery was _the_ gallery to have a show in. I know, I worked there. I know how hard it is to get work in a gallery like that, even when you are established. I also know the type of sales an artist makes when they do get in. For me, just starting out, well, it's a dream come true. More than that, really, because I never even dreamed of such a thing happening to me.

I opened my mouth to reply, though I don't know how I ever would have managed, the way my head was spinning, but a voice from behind me beat me to it.

"She would be delighted," Malfoy replied.

I turned to see him standing there, looking fabulous in his pants and shirt from the night before. He made me feel even more underdressed.

"Perfect," Mister Walters said, flashing a grin. "I'll be in touch with you in the next week or so, and we'll get everything worked out." I nodded back at him, wondering when reality would start again.

"Mister Malfoy," he said, nodding his head, before smiling at me and walking away.

I blinked after him, then slowly closed the door. I turned and stared at Malfoy, who was smirking at me. It was that smirk that snapped my back into reality.

"What, are you my agent now?" I snapped at him, hoping to make the smirk go away. It only got bigger.

"The way you were going you would have scared the poor bugger off with that vacant goldfish stare of yours," he replied, crossing his arms. "I could go out there and tell him that you changed your mind, if you like."

"No," I said, a bit louder than I had intended. "I never said I didn't want to," I said in a more normal voice, my face burning. I cast my eyes down and they fell upon my puppy, who had his hungry face on.

"Let's get you something to eat, shall-" I started to say, but was interrupted as Malfoy pulled me roughly to him and pressed his lips against mine.

I heard Sneazel bark once in protest, then was silent once more as I held onto Malfoy's shoulders for dear life.

His kiss was very hard and demanding, yet at the same time soft and caring. Like he knew just how hard to press and just when to hold back so as not to hurt or scare me off.

After a moment I moved my hands off of his shoulders and moved them around his neck instead, stepping closer to him. Just feeling that heat of his body pressed against mine reminded me of the night before. Yes, I do think I could find many reasons to keep him around, even if he is an arrogant asshole, and a Malfoy to boot.

A few minutes later – or was it an hour? – Malfoy pulled away from me, and grinned down on me with a devastating grin. "Good morning."

"If that is how you say good morning, Malfoy," I said, breathlessly, "I just might have to keep you."

He stared down on me for a moment, the grin dropping off his face.

"I'd hate to say this Weasley," he said and I felt my heart drop. He couldn't be breaking this off now, could he? Not after all that has happened. "But I hope you do. For a very long time."

I stopped, wondering if I had heard him correctly. The Malfoy I remember wasn't supposed to say something like that. He's supposed to say something mean and callous – but then, the Malfoy I know isn't the Malfoy I remember, as I have gone over with myself a hundred times.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" I asked, narrowing my eyes as I stared up at him. I want it as clear as day. He can squirm all he wants.

He stared down on me, as though to challenge me. I could feel the stubbornness rise up within me. And just as I thought he was about to fight back, he sighed.

"It means I love you, Weasley."

I blinked.

"I'm not sure why," he continued, ruining the moment. "You're annoying and irritating and have been in my head for far too long. You've taken over my life, my sex life, all with your damned red hair, and your delicious ass, and your cute little nose. Even your damned dog has wormed his way into my heart." He glanced over at Sneazel. "And I could fight it, and believe me, I've tried, though I think it would take a lobotomy to rid you from my life, and even then, it's not a guarantee."

He stopped and looked down on me, his face vulnerable as I had never seen it before. Usually I just see glimpses of it behind his blank face, but never like this. Never out in the open. Perhaps there is more to Malfoy than I have even yet to fathom. Perhaps –

"Well," he interrupted my thoughts. "Are you just going to stare at me all day? The least you could do is say something so I know whether I need to throw myself over your balcony before I can admit it to anyone else that I love a Weasley."

"Thanks," I sneered up at him, crossing my arms. "It's not like loving a Malfoy is any easier for me."

He stared at me for a moment, then let out his barking laugh. He then gathered me into his arms and held me tight.

"Bloody Weasley," he said gruffly in my ear. "How did we ever get ourselves into this mess?"

"I don't know," I admitted, nuzzling my nose into the crook of his neck. It felt good. Safe. "But I think it all started with you staring at my ass."

o-o-o

**Three Months Later**

"Are you happy now?" the one blond asked the other, as they both leaned against the railing. They were looking down on the main floor of the gallery. The floor was full of people moving about, looking at works from a collection called _Painting an Oyster._

"What do you mean?" the older of the two replied, in a voice that dripped with forced innocence.

The other rolled his eyes.

"Oh don't give me that. You Malfoys are all the same. Manipulate, manipulate, manipulate." He shook his head and looked down on the show again.

"Like you didn't have any part in this either, Mr. Smith," Narcissa replied, brushing her long hair out of her face. "If I remember correctly, you were more than happy to help me when I approached you."

"Yes, but that was before I realised exactly what you had in mind, or that there was a lunatic trying to kill Ginny."

"Ah, that was just poor timing on the lunatic's part. It all worked out in our favour in the end though, didn't it?"

"Except for my broken heart," Zach replied bitterly. Narcissa turned and looked at him, making a tutting noise.

"You don't think I'm done yet, do you?" she asked, a small smirk flitting across her pale face. Zach's eyes narrowed.

"Don't even think it," he warned her, turning his back to the scene bellow. "I can work out my own love life all on my own, thank you."

"Of course you can, dear," the older woman replied. Zach knew she didn't mean it. With a sigh he decided not to argue. It hadn't done any good for Ginny or Malfoy.

"What I still don't get is why Ginny," Zach said, trying to change the subject. He had to admit that the two of them did have a certain chemistry, but Narcissa should have hated her too.

"I liked her," she said with an elegant shrug. "Pretty, intelligent, and stubborn enough to keep my son in his place." She glanced over at him with a smirk that looked so much like her son's. "It was just a matter of proving it to the both of them that it was quite obvious."

"Ah, yes," Zach replied. "That's the part where you came in, making sure that the two of them had to encounter each other." He shook his head, wondering why at the time he had agreed to her plan. "Making sure that those blueprints were in her office, and that Mal-Draco would go check on the plans; forcing the both of them to 'casually' encounter each other, with your outings and your errands; giving little hints as to what you wanted them to think; when it was all a part of your master plan." He paused. "Not to mention forcing me, Luna and Blaise to listen to the lot of them bitch and complain the whole time the process was going on."

"Well, Luna and Blaise got rewarded in the end," Narcissa replied with a grin.

"Yes, and now I get to listen to the two of them be sickeningly sweet to each other. At least Gin and Draco have the decency to do that crap in private."

"Is that jealously I hear?" Narcissa asked, turning away from the gallery bellow and looking at Zach. "Because I do know a-"

"Stop right there," Zach said, putting up a hand and glaring at her. "I am not your guinea pig. I thought I was your partner."

"You were," she replied. "But that task is over. My Draco has stopped sleeping around, now that he and Ginny are well on their way to being engaged – and their bickering entertains me to no end. Ginny has her show now, which should get her career as a professional artist going quite nicely. Draco's business is up and running again, and better than ever. That fire – and stop looking at me like that, I had nothing to do with it. It was just something I took advantage of – seems to have gotten his name out as well." Narcissa sighed happily. "I can just hear the sound of my grandchildren running about the Manor now. They'll look so cute."

"You only picked Ginny because she'll give you cute grandchildren, didn't you?" Zach accused bitterly.

"I'll admit it was one of the factors I took into consideration," she agreed, without a hint of humility. "I'm wondering if it will actually be possible for them to have strawberry blonde hair..."

"Women," Zach muttered, turning around to look at Ginny's art bellow them.

"I still don't get the title," he said after a moment, staring at the giant mural Ginny had painted a few weeks ago. The happiness that seemed to come out of it unnerved him. Stupid Malfoy really did make her happy, whether Zach agreed with him or not. "_Painting an Oyster_ doesn't make any sense."

"Of course it does," Narcissa replied, also turning to look down on the show once more. "You know the phrase 'the world can be our oyster'?" Zach nodded. "Well, she's painting her perfect world."

"Ah," Zach replied dully, though inside he felt a light go on.

**The End.**

o-o-o

A/N: Well, that is the end. And it is also the last fanfic I will ever write. It is time for me to step away from this wonderful world, and create my own. Hopefully in the next few years you can find my books on shelves – here's hoping. ;p

Thank you so much to everybody who stuck with me till the end. And an extra special thank you to everyone who took the time to review (sometimes several times, you know who you are) along the way. You guys are the reason this story didn't die, and the reason why I always felt guilty when it took me like a year to put out a new chapter. You guys are great and deserve so much more than I am able to give you with this story. But here's to all of us, the D/Gers who stuck to our ship, even in the face of canon. I love you all.

**Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, and All the Best in the New Year!!**


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